You may kiss the bride
by Pajaros en la cabeza
Summary: The story of the black widow bride of the attic. Short and lame summary. Based on the attraction character with my own headcanon. Mature content. Now complete
1. Prologue

**_HAUNTED MANSION _****BELONGS TO WALT DISNEY (DISNEYLAND)**

* * *

_My dearest friend: _

_This is the last time I will write in this diary. In a few hours, Mother will open the door and dress me for my wedding. The dress that she bought me is on the chair and she finally found her veil. Ambrose's mother bought me a pearl necklace...that is the only good idea she had. She wants me to wear an awful perfume and put some make up on. We had a little struggle about the shoes...she doesn't like the idea that I'm taller than her son. _

_B__y this time tomorrow, I will be in a farm seven miles away from here, with Ambrose sleeping by my side and I won't be Constance Hatchaway anymore but Constance Harper. I will have a home of my own to take care of and that means no more fun with my friends. I don't even know if I will ever see them again. Ambrose is as boring as his family and I'm sure that his mother won't find it decent for a married woman to have fun with her friends. She finds everything indecent. I think I will end up like Jane. _

_D__ear diary, I'm so afraid...I don't want to end up like Jane...I saw her two days ago, pregnant of her second child, wearing those dull dresses that married women wear and this that expression that Mother has...I don't want that...I don't want to be like her...I don't want to be a mother and all my aspirations be raising brats and please that stupid Ambrose. If he had more money, he could afford travels around the world and a maid or two to do the chores for me. But it is a miracle that the farm has not ended up in ruins yet. How could Mr. Harper have such an idiot like him? I could do a better work!_

_So this is the end. Thank you for all these years of intimacy. You helped me a lot. Now I suppose I have to grow up and become a real woman. T_

The hand was not able to continue writing. A little tear fell in the middle of the text, creating a blot that was illuminated by the rays of the sun that filtered through the curtains. In just a few minutes the sun would raise and her mother would come into the room to wake her up, but Constance had been awake for a long time. She wished that make up and her tricks would brighten her face. In the penumbra, she looked like a ghost.

Cleaning her tears with the back of her hand, careful not to sob even once, the seventeen-year-old girl put the ink and the pen back to their place and opened the trunk to hide the little diary under all the clothes she was going to take with her. She was not not going to write anymore but she would want to remember the old days. When she was done, she returned to her bed, lied down and closed her eyes. She would not sleep anymore but at least Mother would not find her walking around the room.

Her heart beat so hard in her chest that it felt like if someone was hitting her. She could hear the wedding march in her head.


	2. Ambrose

_1869_

* * *

The clothes were so white now that they had been washed that when the sunrays hit them Constance hat to close her eyes for a moment. That morning the sun was extremely bright, with no clouds in the blue sky. It was the perfect summer day to be outside, Constance had seen some carts crossing the path in direction to the lake. She envied them. Just a year ago, she would have been one of them. Sally's father was a kind man and always allowed Sally to take her friends with her everywhere she wanted, invited them to delicious pieces of cake and drinks...But there she was, hanging the clothes out after washing them since the sun rasied, and she had not finished. Oh, no. The windows also had to be cleaned after all the dust brought by the last day's wind that stained them, and, of course, cook. And she had to be grateful that they had laborers who took care of the livestock and the fields, back home her parents and she ran the farm with their own hands and that was real work...Still, she wished that Ambrose finally accepted to have a maid one of those days.

"Whoa!"

Constance turned her head to the entrance. Ambrose had just arrived and this time he was not alone. Sat by his side came a woman of middle-age, a person that looked like a vulture with a hat and a dark blue dress, and eyes that inspected the farm and Constance in just a couple of seconds before sparkling in approbation. At her right side, a bit tight in his seat, was another man who also looked more like an animal than a person, this time, a raccoon with big bags under his eyes and a scruffy beard, wearing an old-fashioned suit. When he descended the car, Constance saw that he did not have a left arm. She smiled to herself, thinking about the contrast of the two men now as they approached to her: Ambrose by his side looked like a child.

"Welcome.", Constance greeted them, holding the sheets of the bed with one more clothespin before walking to them.

"Hello, honey.", Ambrose said to her, giving her a little kiss in the lips. "These are Mr. and Mrs. Burton. Sir, Madame, my wife Constance."

"I finally meet you, dear!", the woman exclaimed with a hand on her chest and the other holding her husband's. "Ambrose is always talking about you. But don't call me Mrs. Burton, please, just Anna.", and she kissed her twice in the cheeks.

"You are a lucky man, Ambrose. The girl is really beautiful. You didn't exaggerate one little bit.", Mr. Burton smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you, milady"

"Nice to meet you too, sir.", Constance replied, bowing her head to him. "I'm going to prepare you something to eat and drink."

"Oh, no, no, no, don't bother.", Mr. Burton stopped her when she had taken only one step. "We only came for a moment. Just sign a few papers and go. But thank you."

"But you will acept a drink, won't you? I insist.", Ambrose said.

"Well, of course. After all, this is an important deal and we must celebrate it."

Constance opened her mouth to ask what deal it was but Mrs. Burton interrupted her.

"For how long have you been married, my dear?", she asked Constance.

"Three months by next week.", she replied, smiling.

"Oh, how nice! Hector and I have been together for twenty-five years. I can't imagine my life without him. It is still soon for you but time will make you agree with me, you will see. The first year is the most lovely of them all, I remember well. Everything is a bed of roses when you are just married, don't you think? Then, children come, the routine, and it looks like everything becomes dull but...Oh, by the way, when will you have your children?"

Constance became frozen. She looked at Ambrose and he turned to her too, blushing a bit, but Mrs. Burton was too excited to notice.

"Oh, come on now, Anna, there is no rush. This is a new generation after all, they have to do things their way. And they are still settling, aren't you?", Mr. Burton intervened, letting out a laugh.

"Well, yeah, we are still...but we hope to have them soon.", Ambrose nodded with a shy smile.

Constance felt oppression in her chest. She wanted to ask Ambrose so many things and tell Mrs. Burton some truths but all she had to do in that moment was to smile and play along. There was a contract at stake and every little gesture and comment could ruin it all. That marriage was very influential in the town, it was convenient to follow their rules and agree with them in all. She would have a word with Ambrose later.

"I'm sure they will be as beautiful as their mother. Just a piece of advice, my young lad: don't have many. Believe me, you will be grateful. Now, let's leave the women with their chatter. We have an agreement to seal."

"Of course.", Ambrose turned to them. "We will be right back."

"We will wait for you here. This is a wonderful day and I want to take the most of it.", Mrs. Burton declared. "Oh, my dear, your grass is so neat, and look at those trees! You have a very nice house."

Ambrose and Mr. Burton walked into the house and the women were left alone. Mrs. Burton did not seem to care about the sun but Constance did. She would have given anything to have her hat in that moment. Why didn't she even fan herself? All she did was to stare at her. Of course, Constance had to imagine that she was a novelty in the town and the women were anxious to know her, so Mrs. Burton was collecting all data possible about her to tell her friends. Those grey eyes fixed on her reminded her definitely of a vulture. She allowed her to look at her but not in silence. She hated awkward silences and so she looked for a topic to talk about but it was not easy to find something they could have in common and those eyes upon her made her lose concentration. Fortunately, Mrs. Burton was faster.

"You don't have to hide it."

"...Oh...", Constance was ashamed of her stupid utterance.

"Everyone is impressed about Hector's lost arm. It's natural, I guess.", Mrs. Burton smiled with condescendence.

"What...happened to him?", Constance dared to ask.

"He was shot in Kernstown and was infected with gangrene."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, dear. With all the men we lost in war, I thank God everyday for only taking his arm."

"Yes...I remember it...It was terrible.", Constance did not really mean it because her life continued happily after the announcement of the war but remembered a couple of girls she knew who had lost someone and a neighbor named Fred that went to the West as a volunteer and never came back. Some said he deserted.

"Did someone of your family fight? A brother? Your father?"

"Oh, I have no siblings and, well, my father was dismissed. He's had limitations of motion in his right leg all his life. He wanted to go but...", Constance noted that the expression of the woman had changed a bit, maybe because of disappointment. In that moment she realized that the Burtons had the Union in a high steem.

"You are lucky to be ignorant of the pain of having someone dear in constant danger. Poor Ambrose! My husband and his father were very good friends. His loss was terrible. But I am happy to see that Ambrose has grown to be all a man capable of maintaining his legacy. I have never seen the farm so beautiful."

"Oh, thank you. Yes, he is a very hard-working man."

"I have no doubt about it. Oh, I almost forgot, I saw Mary Clayton and the wife of the doctor, Mrs. Elmer, you may know her, yesterday, and they are dying to invite you to a nice cup of tea next Thursday. I am going too, with Sheila Haward, can we count you in?"

"Why, of course! I'd love to meet you all."

"Excellent! They will be mad about you. You are so pretty...And they all love Ambrose. You make a nice couple, dear. I will never get tired of saying it."

Constance tried to keep smiling but she thought to herself that one more 'dear' and she would shut her mouth with a clothespin. Those eyes preying every single wrinkle in her nose, every movement of her eyebrows and the slightlest variation in her smile...They made her feel like if the police was questioning her. She hoped that, with time, she would get tired of her and go chase the newest girl in the town.

She was glad to know that the men were sincere and the sign was very brief. Only a couple of minutes had to pass, filled with stupid chatter about the weather, to see them abandon the house with satisfaction written on their faces. Constance discreetly sighed out of relief.

"Well, Mrs. Harper, you are a bit richer now.", Mr. Burton smiled.

"Ralph will take you home, Mr. Burton.", Ambrose said, making a gesture to the black laborer, who nodded and rushed to prepare the car for the guests.

"Thank you, lad.", he turned to Constance with a wide smile. "It's been an absolute pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you more often from now on."

"Oh, I hope that too, sir.", the young woman replied.

"Count on us for everything you need. I will always be there to have a tea, my dear, never forget it."

"Of course."

"Well, it's getting late. We won't bother you anymore.", Mr. Burton said.

"I insist in inviting you to have lunch.", Ambrose repeated.

"Oh, no, thank you. Maybe another time. You have to taste Linda's potatoes. Delicious!"

The couple got into the car and Ralph kicked the horse to make him move. The Burtons waved their hands to them.

"Goodbye, Constance! See you soon!", Mrs. Burton told her.

Constance just raised her hand with a smile.

When they were at a reasonable distance, her smile disappeared and she turned to Ambrose. His smile also faded and looked at him with that shy expression that was so characteristic of him.

"...Sorry...I know you...want to take it...slow...But..."

"I understand. After all, what else could we have said?", Constance sighed.

"My mother has also been insisting on that point...In her last letter...well..."

"I can imagine..."

There was silence. The wind waved the grass and made the leaves of the trees murmur gently.

"...You know...You don't have to...Well...There is no rush...We can..."

"No...I guess...It is time...", Constance muttered.

Ambrose looked at her with an evidently surprised expression. In contrast, his wife's face was absolutely neutral.

"...Are you sure?", he asked.

"...Yes..."

"I don't want you to..."

"No. I mean it."

"...Alright..."

Constance took air and turned her eyes to him. He really looked like a little boy in that moment, one that was scared and overwhelmed. That made Constance remember their wedding night, when he got mentally prepared for hours and when he finally managed to get in bed and undress himself, she rejected him with no excuses at all, just a 'no, please, not yet, no'. In that moment, she really pitied Ambrose. In many senses he was just a little boy who had been thrown into adulthood after the death of his father and was completely lost. Businesses were a thing but marriage...

That reminded Constance of another thing.

"What was that deal about?"

"Oh...It's about the livestock.", Ambrose simply said, shrugging. "What are we going to eat?"

Constance opened her mouth a bit. Was that all the explanation she was going to receive?

"...Soup."

"My favourite. Thanks, dear."

He walked to her, in search of a kiss, but Constance turned around, picked the basket up and continued her labor.

* * *

Night had fallen over the eighty acre farm, transforming the colorful and bright place into a theatre of shadows. Constance could only see through the window the black silhouettes of the trees. Some minutes before the laborers had turned off the lights of their huts and she heard no more voices, not even the animals. Ambrose's steps and the reflection of his silhouette coming into the room in the window made her turn around slowly. He looked at her and tried to smile but his nervousness and shyness prevented him from drawing a sincere smile. He then walked to the opposite side of the room and took off his jacket, leaving it in the coat stand carefully, so slowly that it was evident that he was taking his time to remove his clothes. Constance was already changed: she had put her long, white nightgown on and undone her hairdo, letting her long, blond hair free.

She took a step towards her side of the bed but her foot was still in the air when she stopped, became still for a moment and then looked at Ambrose.

"...I'm...going to..drink a bit of...water...I'll be right back...", she said. Her voice filled the silent room so abruptely that it shocked her and Ambrose.

He looked at her, bit his under lip and nodded slightly. "A-Alright..."

Constance came out of the room like him, slowly. Taking a lamp with her, she made her way down the stairs, through the living room, finding the house silent and dark, until she reached the backdoor. She opened it and came out, closing the door behind her. A soft breeze received her, waving her hair and caressing her skin. It was very pleasurable after a whole day working under a burning sun. But she would have enjoyed it more in different circumstances. Now that she was away from Ambrose and there were no men around to see her, she sat on the stone bench and buried her face in her hands.

Everything was going fine...She had time...But that witch had to bring that up...She had to say it...

_It's not fair...This isn't fair at all..._

Since she was a child, she dreamed of travels around the world, at least to Paris, a nice house big enough for her pretty dresses, one for each color of the rainbow and beautiful jewels, with a beautiful garden and rooms to host all her friends. Days and days having fun alone or in company. Children, if any, could wait.

But not so soon...Not now...What had she achieved by then? A successful farm, yes, she could not deny it, but she had to waste her youth working on it like a slave, what kind of life was that? If it gave enough money to have someone to take care of it and give her free time, like all those ladies from the town...But, of course, that would never happen because Ambrose was only a child in the body of a grown man and he had enough problems maintaining the estate to take the most of it!

And she was about to devote herself entirely to a bunch of brats from that father, forgetting about all she had dreamed about for the rest of her life?

_Of course of not! I'd leave the house, cut my veins before letting that happen!_

But she could not do any of those things. She wanted to live. She wanted to live more than anything in the world. But she could not simply go away. How embarrassing would it be! She would never hold her head up again! And her parents would kill her!

Constance hugged herself. Ambrose was waiting for her in the bedroom, what to do? what to say? She wished she was anyone but her. A little girl too busy playing to care about a married woman's issues, or even an old woman like Ambrose's mother, perfectly accostumed to children and having everyone's respect and pity after the death of the husband. Thinking about Mrs. Harper did not make her feel any better but...

...

...

...A widow?

Could she be...a widow?

Oh, that would be marvellous...Just imagine that Ambrose had been called to war, like his father...He could have gone back dead or disappeared...She would be alone again and no one would said a thing against her...Alone with all his inheritance...

But the reality was the reality. There was no war and Ambrose had a perfect health. He would not disappear just like that. The mere thought of having him killed was horrible! How could she?

...Oh, if only a bandit showed up that precise night...It would be so convenient...

...

_...Why wishing for a bandit? Maybe...Maybe I can do that myself..._

She looked around. There was no one in the area to see her. Since they had no service, there was no one around to listen or see a thing. Only Ambrose and she. All the workers were sleeping, enough far from there to be ignorant about what happened inside the house and they would never go in there at that time. It was the perfect moment...

_But...But I never did this before...I don't want to end up hanged..._

She stood up and walked around. How to do it? She needed something quick, something that could not involve her...She stopped in front of the font. Drowining him in the water? No...Her eyes wandered around the farm. Strangling him with a rope? That would be good but not as quick as she wanted. Ambrose could defend himself and denounce her...What then? What?

Then, her search stopped. Her eyes fixed on the little woodshed. They looked over the planks and logs until they found it. A hatchet stabbed in the stump they used to cut the wood. She walked slowly to it and removed it from its place. She saw the reflection of the moon in its silver surface, like a mirror. It was light, at least. The girl used the stump to see how she would use it. The cut that she produced was profound. If she used all her strength, she could do even more. Yes...That would be very quick and she only had to be careful to clean it and leave it in its place...

Constance looked around. Still no one around but the sound of the wind and the animals and the shadows of the plants gave her the impression that she was surrounded and was about to get caught. She had to do it and quick before it was true. She breathed deep and walked into the house. It was still immersed in darkness and silence until she reached the stairs and saw light coming out of their bedroom and Ambrose's steps, walking around the room.

She doubted for a moment and then climbed them in silence, with the hatchet behind her back. Even the cracking of the steps as she ascended made her feel nervous. She stopped in the threshold and looked at Ambrose. He had not taken his clothes off yet...obviously, he was as nervous as she, or even more. He had untied his bow tie and removed his shoes but nothing else. He looked through the window, obviously waiting for her, but he could not see her and that made him sigh. He had not noticed that she was there yet. Constance took advantage of this to approach to him as silent as she could. Her heart beated so fast and hard...

Then, Ambrose, as Constance had experimented some minutes ago, saw a figure coming to him in the reflection of the window. He turned around in the same moment when Constance raised the hatchet and waved it with all her strength, letting out a little gasp.

What happened then was confusing. Constance dropped the weapon and dropped onto the bed. She felt dizzy, sick. It was indescriptible. For a moment, she did not know what had happened exactly. She rubbed her face, closed her eyes and some minutes later she recovered her senses completely and found herself in her bedroom. At her feet lied Ambrose's body, in a pool of blood. His head was in the corner, looking at the wall.

_...I did it..._

_...I am a widow now...I'm...I'm free..._

But now that she had done it, she had to think about her next movements. They were crucial, the difference between freedom and the scaffold.

She stood up and, not looking at the corpse, she walked around the room. She felt so bad that she actually wobbled. What to do? What to say? It had to sound convincing.

She remembered her previous wish about a bandit. Yes...That could be an idea...But she had to prepare it...It had to be convincing...

She sat in Ambrose's side of the bed, opposite to where he lied in that moment, and thought. Five minutes and a half had to pass until she raised up again and rushed to carry out her plan.

If it was a bandit, many things had to disappear. She abandoned the room and walked downstairs. Ambrose had a box full of jewels of the family in a box around there. With no care at all, she opened all the drawers and messed everything up. It had to look like a robbery. She took all the earrings, necklaces and bracelets, throwing the box away and decided that she could use a bit more mayhem. She dropped some books from the library and chairs, opened everything that could be opened and came out to the porch to destroy the lock with the hatchet, of course, after making sure that there was no one around to see her. That gesture made her realize that her nightgown was stained with blood. She rushed inside to change herself, this time wearing a light blue nightdress, and wrapped the jewels inside of the stained clothes. Where could she hide them that no one would find them? She walked out to the woodshed. Still no one around. What time it was? One in the morning? No that, was not a good place to hide anything...Maybe...The barn! Yes! She ran there. Constance hated that place. It smelled bad and it always implied a lot of work, but in that moment she did not mind. She could not hide the jewels among the hay but no one would be digging around. She chose a corner for that matter. No one would dig and definitely not in that space. Using a shovel from the same barn, always alert just in case she heard the door open, she dug a little but profound hole in which she dropped the jewels. She doubted whether leave the nightgown there or not. If someone found it, they would recognize her clothes...She shook her head and tore it apart, helping herself with some of the tools of the barn until they were reduced to rags and spread them all around the barn. No one pays attention to a little piece of fabric.

Only the hatchet remained...She had to clean it and put it back to its place...And that was what she did: she walked to the font, cleaned the blood in it, dried it in the grass and left it carefully back in its place, in the same position as she had found it.

She had finished. Now, it was time to start the theatre. No mistakes now. She took her time to prepare herself, she let anguish take over her whole body, she thought about the most miserable memories and situations she could find in her head until tears started coming out and her face acquired a blush. Then, she abandoned the farm and started running towards the laborer's huts.

"**HELP! HELP! PLEASE, HELP! OH, MY GOD, AMBROSE!**"

Shadows of men appeared in the horizon and light illuminated the cabins again. Hearing all those desperate howls, almost all workers had come out of their beds and rushed to the young mistress that ran to them with eyes full of tears and a shaken expression.

"Mrs. Harper! What's happened?"

"A-AMBROSE, AMBROSE!"

"Please, please, lady, calm down, what's happened?"

"S-Someone has broken into the house! I was-I was outside, gathering-sob-water for tonight and r-refreshing myself when I h-heard something. I saw two men co-coming out...I-I think and...Sob...Hic...I was so scared...They r-ran away...I rushed to see if Ambrose was alright but I found him in the...Sob...He's dead!"

To dramatize more, she fell on her knees and had two workers holding her. The men looked at each other and ran into the house. Constance could hear their voices perfectly echo in the farm.

"Yeah, someone's forced in! The door's broken!"

"Call the neighbors. Maybe we can still catch 'em."

"Calm down, Mrs. Harper. You are safe with us. Tom, bring the whisky. She needs it."

Constance, sat on the floor with her face wet and red, breathed with difficulty and did not stop sobbing. Some moment later, a laborer came back with a bottle of whisky and a cup that he offered to her.

"Drink this."

"N-No, I don't think that's...", Constance muttered.

"Come on. You'll feel better, ma'am. Nobody's gonna complain."

Constance shyly nodded and took a sip. She decided in that moment that she would never taste such thing in her life again but she continued drinking to please the men. After a while, the neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Prince and their two sons ran to her, the men carrying their guns with them.

"Constance! Oh, my poor child! Are you alright?", Mrs. Prince exclaimed, positioning herself in front of her and placing her hands in Constance's cheeks. Terror and pity made her usually merry, round face look strange. Constance did not reply, she only babbled softly, with no strength.

"Those damned savages!", Mr. Prince grunted. "I knew one of these days they would do something"

Though she did not raise her head, Constance heard some men coming back from the house.

"The house is a mess, it seems they stole something."

"And Mr. Harper is dead. They cut his head off."

"Oh, my God!", Mrs. Prince exclaimed, covering her mouth and Constance whined.

"Shit...Alright, there's nothing we can do for him. Now all we can do is wake up all Money County and spread the news. Maybe someone saw something. I hope it's not too late to catch whoever did this."

"Julie, take Mrs. Harper hom. I'll call the doctor to help her calm down."

"Alright...Come, my dear. You will stay with us tonight.", Mrs. Prince gently made Constance stand up but she made sure to totter and cry to the edge that she could not see where she went.

"Ambrose...Ambrose..."

"Sssshhh...My poor, poor thing...Sssshhh...It's okay now...It's okay...It's okay..."

Oh, Constance had great difficulty not to smile in that moment! The worst had passed and it seemed like her plan had worked perfectly. Now she was free from Ambrose and had a farm of her own to run. The mourning she had to experience for some time compensated all the money that she had now in her hands. The oppressive feeling had gone away as soon as Mrs. Prince started shedding compassive tears. She did not know how right she was when she said that everything was okay now.


	3. Frank

1872

* * *

"Frank is to come back soon. Prepare the bath for him. How is dinner going?"

"It will take a bit longer."

"Well, but don't serve it cold. Now go prepare the bath, quick. And remember that Frank likes the water specially hot."

"Of course, Mrs. Banks."

Mina left the room and Constance returned her attention to the arrangement of the flowers of the vase in the hall. Frank spent almost all day in the bank and she had to entertain herself as she could. Constance did not compain really, it was good to live in a big, clean house in which there were no animals to feed and clean, no field to work and finally had someone to do a great part of the chores for her, a sixteen-year-old girl whose real name was unknown for Constance. She was still accostumed to do a great amount of work everyday and that was the reason why she did not entrust her everything: the first month she dedicated herself only to meetings and shopping, she felt extremely bored. Fortunately, there was always something to do in a house like that with only one maid.

That helped her stop thinking about Ambrose. For the last three years, she had not thought about anything else. She feared that in every moment a policeman would come and take her to jail, and it was not pleasant at all. "No, don't think about that. The past is the past.", she told herself whenever she remembered that dreadful night. All the questions, her eyes irritated after days and days of crying, living with Mrs. Harper and Elizabeth...Gosh, if dealing with that pair of witches was unpleasant, she could not understand how she beared having to hear their whines, their endless interrogation about what happened, their 'oh, ooooh!'...No, everything was in the past. Including them. She knew they were upset about her getting married two years after Ambrose's murder, her mother had sent her a letter complaining about that as well, but she changed her mind when she met Frank. The Harpers also met him but did not seem too convinced. Constance could not care less about their opinion so she gave them the farm and left with Frank. If they sold it or kept it as a memory of Ambrose, she did not know. She did not care either. They barely wrote her and she read their letters with no interest to burn them in the chimney when she finished and replied with all the courtesy expected from her. In a few years, they would forget completely about her. After all, they cried for Ambrose; they would have been perfectly fine if the one decapitated had been Constance.

The fact that Frank fell in love with her even if she wore those horrendous black dresses and acted as a poor widow was a very good sign. If there had been any kind of suspicion, people would have noticed and she would have been alone. She supposed that she had represented her role very well. The police ceased bothering her with her inquiries and since they found no jewels, no witnesses apart from her and no weapons that could have been used in the crime, the investigation had to be closed, for the Harper family's grief. As law stated, since Ambrose had no last will, Constance became the propietary of his farm, all that it contained and his fortune. With time, the newspapers forgot about the happening, and so did the people.

"Constance? I'm home, honey!"

The noise of the door opening and some loud steps anticipated Frank's coming. He was way different from Ambrose, not only concerning the dedication and importance of his businesses, but also in appearance: he was much taller than Constance and most of the men she had met in her life, and, though he was young, he was not a boy at all, something that his elegant moustache made more evident. He was not shy at all, in fact, he was one of the best-known men of the community, member of dozens of asociations, had a charge of great responsibility in the bank and had great investments in United Kingdom and Cuba. Mrs. Burton defined him quite well when they were introduced in that ball they were invited saying that he was a man with inititative.

"Hello, Frankie.", Constance walked to him with some of the flowers in her hand and kissed his lips softly. "How are you?"

"Tired but thanking God for giving me a wife so patient as you are. Is roast chicken what I'm smelling?

"Yes."

"Mr. Banks, the bath is ready for you.", Mina's voice was heard from upstairs.

"The crowning jewel of a perfect day!"

Frank was about to ascend the stairs when Constance stopped him halfway clearing softly her throat.

"Uh...Frankie...I don't know if you remember..."

"Yes?", he asked, turning to her.

"We still have to decide if we are going to accept the invitation of your friend Paul to stay in their house. The trip is next week, so...We'd better..."

"Oh, darling, I forgot...", Frank, joining his hands with regret in his face. "Oh, Jesus...I'm so sorry, dear, but I have a meeting with Mr. Tomlinson. I would pospone it but he is only going to stay in the country for a week...This is a very important deal, I've been waiting for this moment for months and I can't..."

"It's alright, it's alright, I understand perfectly.", Constance drew a smile.

"I was sure you would. You don't know how sorry I am."

"Don't worry...Businesses are first..."

He descended the stairs and caressed her cheeks. Constance tried to avoid looking like a selfish little girl who didn't get what she wanted but she had been preparing that trip for months. She was eager to have a nice time out of the time, just she and Frank.

"I promise this won't happen again.", Frank said. "My sweet girl, don't be sad. I hate seeing you like that. You know? I brought something special for you. I was going to give it to you after dinner but I want you to see it now. Come."

He took her hand and led her to the velvet armchair in the hall where he had left his case and some packages. He took a parcel with a purple ribbon and gave it to her.

"What is this?", Constance asked, holding the package in her hand, looking at it and then back at him.

"Open it and you will see."

Constance was quick to obey. She opened the parcel with almost no care at all and her mouth and eyes opened wide when she saw the content. It was a silk, green dress, the most beautiful she had ever seen, with a sash ribbon decorated with floral motifs.

"Oh, Frankie!"

"This is for Mrs. Burton's Christmas party. Last time we were there, you were beautiful like an angel but had to wear that sad, black dress. I was waiting to see you with a dress as pretty as you."

"Frank...Oh...It's so..."

"Do you like it?"

"Of course I do! Thank you! But darling, my favourite color is not green, it's blue."

"Oh, silly me! Let's do something.", he opened his wallet and gave Constance a good amount of bills. "Here. Tomorrow is my birthday. Buy one of Jones' cakes and a hat to match your new dress. Remember that we have that dinner with the Hoffmans."

Constance took the money with a smile and counted it.

"But there's too much in here, I don't need so much money.", she said.

"Well, then buy one more dress, or two. A blue one."

Frank went up the stairs and Constance walked to the living room, counting the bills again. It always looked like if Frank had indefinited money to spend. 'Hard work has its reward', her mother always said.

The idea of getting married again had not been so terrible after all. At first, she only accepted Frank's proposal because it was better to live with a man she barely knew than being trapped with the Harpers and having to follow their strict mourning. But seeing all his kind gestures, she was glad to have said 'yes'. Knowing that she lost her first husband in horrible circumstances, he did things carefully, with no rush. She could have gotten accostumed to that life.

* * *

Constance had been waiting until Frank ended his meal, drank his brandy and lit his cigarette to ask him. It was something she had observed from her parents and that time had confirmed as the best way to request something to a man. With their stomaches full after a long, tiring day, they were more complacient.

"Frankie."

"Yes?"

"I was thinking...Maybe we could go to Washington next weekend. If you don't have anything to do, of course..."

Frank watched the smoke of his cigarette rise to the ceiling in thought. After some seconds, he looked at Constance.

"Impossible. Mr. Night has invited me to hunt in his reserve for three days. Uhm, sorry but I couldn't convince him of taking you with me...You know that he-"

"...I understand.", of course she knew. Mr. Night, the manager of the bank, was famous for his firm rejection of marriage. He explicitly said in some occasions that women were a very expensive distraction, and accepted the wives of his employees and friends in social events but he was a bit cold with them and they were not invited in private reunions such as that hunting games.

_Well, being three days all alone won't be so bad...After all, he works all day and I have some friends to have fun with..._

But she really wanted to go to Washington D.C, she had planned that trip for a long time. Almost everything was arranged. It irritated her that those stupid bosses and investors spoiled it all and that Frank accepted...Well, it was his job, thanks to that they had a pretty house and food in their dishes...But it was not fair. She never spoiled Mina's plans.

She did not resign to be at home boring herself to death. Constance took air, caressing one pearl of the necklace that he bought her for their wedding with her thumb and index fingers, and tried again.

"Maybe...Maybe we could do something before you go. The weather's so nice..."

"Excellent, I'd say. However...", Frank's face flinched a bit and Constance knew what the answer would be. "These days there is a lot of work to do in the bank...I'm ending up so tired that all I want is to get in bed and sleep for hours. And, well, you have no idea about how sick I get with the pollen."

Constance bent her head a bit and nodded. Frank gave the last drag to his cigarette, put it out in the ashtray, got up from the table and walked to her to kiss her cheek. The smell of the tobacco was mixed with the pleasant touch of lavender after his bath.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I really am. When all this calms down, I promise I will take you wherever you want. I give you my word."

Constance replied nothing but allowed him to kiss her again. Then, she turned to him and kissed him in the lips.

"Sorry, Frank...I guess I'm being a little selfish."

"Don't worry, my love.", he dedicated her a side smile, kissed her again and turned to the door. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

"Good night."

Frank had barely left the dining room when Constance's expression changed. She could not believe it. All she wanted was to have a good time with her husband, was she asking so much?

That condescending smile...How she hated it!

"Did you finish, Mrs. Banks?"

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Mina by her side.

"Uh, yes."

Mina nodded, took her plate and glass and went to the kitchen to wash everything used in the dinner. Constance decided that she could not stay in there for any longer or she would think the she was crazy. She got up from the chair and walked to the living room. She took a book from the library without even paying attention to the title and tries to distract herself with it but she could not concentrate and read the same line a million times, thinking about something else.

Why did Frank marry her if all he did was related to his job? Was having a wife in his to-do list, something to cross and froget once he achieved it? It almost looked like if he was married with the confounded bank, not she!

The comfort was nice, she had money to spend and intimacy but she did not like the price she had to pay for that. She had never felt so alone in her life. At least she did things with Ambrose; with Frank...she only spent time with him when he came back home after work! She escaped from the solitude and boredom of widowhood to get into something very similar.

_To be alone with his money..._

Constance closed the book and fixed her eyes on the carpet. A sudden thought made her leave the book on the coffee table, get up and walk, almost run, to the guestroom, passing by the stairs. A weak light came from the bedroom, where Frank was probably putting his pijamas on.

There, under the mattress...There it was. The hatchet that she used to end with Ambrose's life.

For a moment, she did not remember why it was there. It was crazy, like if it had a mind of its own and had decided to follow her to her new house and remind her of her crime. Ridiculous, demential. Then, she remembered that she took it herseld. She had been so obsessed in her attempt to erase any kind of trace of her crime that she decided to replace the hatchet for a new one and take the hatchet with her the last day she was in the farm to get rid of it. For some reason, she could not do it and hid it in her house. She was not fully aware of the reasons but there it was, its blade shining bright...showing her the way...

_No...This is not like last time...I'm not a murdress..._

_You are, dear...Ambrose is pushing up daisies, who's fault is that? The only reason why you are here is because you killed him_

_...It is too risky...Mina is here..._

_That is no problem. She is washing the dishes and won't come into the room without your permission_

_But Frank..._

_Frank doesn't love you. If he did, he wouldn't invent so many excuses to be with you. Why resigning yourself with the little money that he gives you to keep you content when you can have all his fortune? After all, he is never there to enjoy it. What is the difference? Come on, Mina is busy_

Constance nodded to herself and walked out of the room. She climbed the stairs and waited almost in the second floor until the light from the bedroom extinguished. Then, after making sure that no one was around, she walked to the door and came in. The bedroom was dark but the light of the moon through the window was enough to guide her to the headboard. She doubted that Frank was already asleep but she stepped silently to surprise him. She did not need any screams or fights. To avoid that, before going to his encounter, opened as quietly as possible the chest of drawers in which she had her stockings and took one, making a ball with it. Now she was prepared to do it. Her heart beated to fast but she did not feel afraid. It was like one of those games she played when she was little, in which one boy was in the center of a circle and another had to take the keys from him without making a single noise.

Frank was lying on the bed with his eyes closed and a expression full of peace. The floor squeaked a bit at her feet when she was staring at him but instead of stopping Constance, it made her lose no time. In the exact moment when Frank opened his eyes at that sound and turned his head to the figure that was standing before him, he only had a second to realize what was happening, a second that Constance used to introduce the stockings in his mouth. Then, while Frank was choking, she took advantage of his shock and her evident superiority to drag him out of bed. She did not want to stain the sheets with blood and have one more problem to solve. He emitted gutural sounds, waved his arms and legs but Constance was quick to trample his chest and offer him a smile before cutting his head. His groans ceased immediately.

Constance breathed hard and deep after it. Sweat was running down her forehead and chest but she could not stop. Not now. There was too much to do.

She walked out of the room and listened. She still heard the dishes being arranged, it looked like Mina would spend a bit more time doing her work, after which she would go to her room. Constance rushed to the bathroom and took some of the towels that Frank had left for the laundry, towels that no one would miss. With them, she cleaned the blood that squirted out of the body. At first, she was afraid that it would be unstoppable but, luckily, with the towels she brought was enough and it stopped bleeding soon. She would clean the floor better when Mina went to bed, in that moment at least the blood was gone and the remainings were not visible from the door. Constance stopped to think for a moment and after a couple of minutes she had an idea of how she would do things this time.

She pulled the body under the bed, the hatchet and the head too. She made sure that the bedspread covered it well enough and the corpse did not form a new pool of blood, covering the cut with the towels. What would she do with them? She thought about that while she descended the stairs and returned to the living room. The noises from the kitchen had ceased and Mina would come soon. She made sure that the blood did not stain her clothes, luckily no, and sat again to read the book...Well, pretend she was reading. If she could not concentrate before, now it was completely impossible. Five minutes later, Mina appeared at the door.

"I'm going to bed. If there is something else you want me to do..."

"Oh, if Frank is still up, please remind him to take his pills to sleep.", Constance said.

"Alright. Good night, Mrs. Banks."

"Good night, Mina, thank you."

The girl left and Constance waited until she heard no movement. The steps that were taken upstairs were perfectly audible from there. With her eyes on the pages of the book, she waited. Four minutes later, Mina reappeared.

"Mr. Banks is not in the bedroom. I've been looking for him but he is not around.", she told her.

"Well...Maybe he is busy with his papers somewhere. Go to bed, I will go to sleep soon and tell him myself.", Constance replied.

"As you please. Sleep well."

"Good night."

Again the steps crossing the corridor upstairs, walking around the room and then...Silence. Constance left the book in its place in the shelf and turned off the lights. She waited for a few minutes for Mina to fall asleep, ellaborating her plan mentally, until she thought that it was enough. The clock in the living room announced that it was eleven o'clock. Constance was not tired at all, in fact, all that adventure was extremely thrilling for her because this time there was a witness in the house. She returned to the bedroom and hid the hatchet not in the mattress but inside her pillow. No one would look for it there. Then, she took Frank's body out from under the bed from the wrists and thought for a moment. If she dragged it out, she could make too much noise and it would take her a long time. How could she take the body to the garden? She gasped softly when she came up with the solution. With a bit of difficulty, she dragged the body to the window, opened it and threw it from there. It fell with a 'plaf!', after which she bit her under lip and walked to the door to listen if Mina had been woken up by that noise. But she heard nothing at all, in the house there was only silence and darkness. So she took the head, avoiding to look at those still frightened eyes and that open mouth and dropped it too. 'Plof!'. Then, she walked out of the house, something that took her some minutes because she walked slowly to avoid producing any kind of sound.

In the little of the gardener she found a shovel that could be of great use but had to use carefully. She hoped that the sound did not attract anyone's attention. Again, to avoid that possibility, she dug carefully, slowly, and looking in every direction but the hole she was doing. In what seemed like an eternity, she made a not very deep pit. Her intention was never bury the corpse and forget about it, so it was enough. It was probably midnight when she dragged the body into the hole and dropped the head between his legs.

"Happy birthday, Frankie.", she muttered. Immediately after, she covered her husband's face with soil.

The ground had been obviously manipulated and there was something buried there. Constance was satisfied. They would find him soon. Before coming into the house again, she shook the dirt out of her dress and returned with the same cautiousness as before to her bedroom. The silence comforted her. She changed herself and put her nightgown on. Before getting in bed, she made sure that everything was in its place: the body was in a place where it could be found easily, the blood had been cleaned, Mina had seen her in the living room all the time, the weapon was with her...Good.

She laid in bed and covered herself with the sheets. It was crazy to think that she would fall asleep after all that had happened that night. When she killed Ambrose, she was awake until exhaustion made her sleep in a couch in the Burtons' house. However, she would be surprised the following morning to find that not only did she fall asleep but it happened very soon.

* * *

A extremely loud scream woke Constance up. It took Constance some moments to clear her head and realize that a new morning had come and that she knew perfectly the reason of the yell. However, she did not get up immediately. She took her time to stretch her limbs and stare at the emptiness in Frank's side of the bed. Then, she got up, put her rob on and rushed to the back side door. She found Mina in the doorstep, covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes open wide with horror. Constance approached to her.

"Mina! What's wrong? What are those screams about?", she asked her.

She turned her head to the garden. The gardener, Mr. Dann, walked to her with an expression just as horrified as the maid's, with his hands spread trying to cover what was lying on the ground behind him but, of course, Constance saw it. The half-buried corpse of her husband. It was time to play the actress again. Her own experience and the study of the expressions of the ladies that saw Ambrose's corpse made her have a better idea of what her reaction should be. First, she placed her hand on her chest. Then, she wobbled a bit and opened her mouth, trying to utter Frank's name. Finally, she closed her eyes and let herself fall to the floor.

"Mrs. Banks!", Mina exclaimed.

It was complicated to fake a faint but she hope she did it alright. At least, Mina shook her and begged the gardener to help her with her. In some minutes, she would end up with that farce and do as she did with Ambrose: cry, answer the Police's questions and start the mourning. This time she did not feel so bad about it. It was a very tedious process but the reward was great. Frank was gone and her fortune had magically increased. How could have she waited five months to do it?

_Curious. Widowhood has brought me much more happiness than marriage_


	4. Zhang

1874

* * *

Constance looked at herself in the mirror from different angles and adjusted the necklace a bit to the right.

"It looks gorgeous on you, dear.", the shop assistant praised her, a woman with a very big nose.

Of course it looked gorgeous! That sapphire gem would make even a pig pretty! And it matched her eyes. The price was high but she could not care less about it. It was beautiful and it had to be hers. Zhang had given her a good amount of money to spend while he was in that meeting with the governor and she had enough after buying two dresses and a brooch.

"I'll take it.", Constance said, taking off the jewel, turning around and giving it to her.

"Excellent choice! Louise will wrap it for you. Or do you want to wear it?"

"Oh, no, wrap it. It's a surprise."

"...Connie?"

The girl turned around. A young woman had just come into the jewelry shop and was staring at her wide-eyed. At first, Constance did not recognize her and even thought that she was addressing to someone else but, no, she was looking at her, and there were very few people that called her 'Connie'. She examined her. Long, dark hair, plump, she wore a bulky yellow dress with a brown hat and sash, even at a good distance Constance could smell her perfume. Her mouth opened and formed a smile.

"Charlotte?"

"What a surprise!", the newcomer exclaimed, walking to her and kissing her cheeks.

"Oh, goodness, Charlotte, I didn't recognize you!", Constance smiled, taking her hands. "You look great!"

"Oh, thank you, dear. You're also dashing!"

"Here you have, Mrs. de Doom.", the assistant of the shop, that one called Louise, said to Constance, giving her a fine package with her jewel. She smiled and paid her. "Thank you, have a nice day."

"Thank you too."

"De Doom? You mean...the marquis?", Charlotte asked, with her mouth wide open.

Constance smiled and nodded.

"Oh, goodness! Congratulations! I've heard of him! He was...uhm...Japanese?"

"Chinese."

"Of course, silly me...Remember when we were children and dreamed of marrying a blue prince from far away lands? Well, you did! Where did you meet?"

"In...Frank's funeral...", Constance's smile faded quickly and looked away.

Charlotte looked at her with an expression close to pain and covered her mouth with her gloved hand.

"Connie...Oh, dear, I'm so sorry...So, so sorry...Please, excuse me for..."

"Don't worry, Charlotte. You didn't know."

"...Has the Police discovered who...?"

"No...There were no traces and my servants and neighbors saw nothing at all."

"I read something about it in the papers...I hope it doesn't end like Ambrose's case...What a pity, he was quiet but cute...S-Sorry, I guess you don't want to..."

"No, no, Charlotte, don't say that...I...I don't want to forget him...". The atmosphere had become tense and Constance did not want to see her friend like that, after years without knowing about her, so she smiled and forgot the issue. "What about you? Have you found your prince charming?"

"Oh!", Charlotte giggled, forgetting immediately about the two murdered husbands. "Do you remember Sean Graves?"

"Graves? The one with the face full of spots?"

"Not anymore! You should see him now. Just when I thought he would never notice me, he led me onto the dance floor in his grandfather's birthday party and told me he always loved my laugh. We started seeing each other and...well...we're going to get married in two months!"

"Gasp! Oh, Charlotte, congratulations! You are a lucky girl."

"Thank you! You're invited to the wedding, of course. I'll send you the invitation as soon as possible. I'm so excited! He'll be a great husband, I'm sure of that. He started working for Milton & Pound yesterday and we hope to buy our home soon."

"I'm sure you will, I remember Sean as a hard-working boy. Well, I have to go. It's been a great pleasure to see you after so many years."

"Yes, we should have coffee one of these days. Bye, Connie! See you soon!"

They hugged each other and Constance walked out of the shop and waited until she was far enough from the jewelry to sigh. Charlotte was the only unmarried girl of the group and also the youngest, three years younger than she was. Now that she was going to get married, the old gang had officially dissolved. They were all married and she had received letters or heard about the pregnancy and birth of the children of the other three members. The old times when they played in the grass, invited their families to taste their cakes and danced and sung till nighttime were gone. In a few years, the girls she once knew would be gone too: they would all be serious, responsible housewives and mothers with no time for that nonsense. The parties would become dull, serious reunions. She spotted her carriage and tried to imagine the always cheerful Charlotte with that expression housewives had after some years while appraching to it.

_Fortunately, I don't have that look..._

_...And the price was having blood in my hands..._

"Have you finished, madame?", Tim Humbert asked. He was a brunette man in his middle twenties, a bit older than she was but not much. He looked very mature, though his eyes had that childish sparkle. Constance thought since the very first day that if he was as diligent as he was active, he would not have all the problems he had.

"Of course I have, why do you think I am here? Come on, let's go home.", Constance said, getting into the car.

Humbert turned to her with doubt.

"Uhm...Don't you have anything else to do?", he asked her.

"No, I bought everything I had to buy. Come on, let's go."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, Tim, please, how many times I have to tell you? Yes, I am sure, come on, what are you waiting for?"

"...Alright, Mrs. de Doom..."

He kicked the horse and the calash started moving. The travel was not too long: the house was in the outskirts of the city but Constance had enough time to put the sapphire she had bought on, admire it in front of her pocket mirror for some minutes and put it back to its wrap. She paid no attention to the people that passed by the car, rich and poor, the leaves falling from the trees or the beautiful brick buildings. She only perceived the ring of the bells of the church as something distant, unreal. Was there something better in the world than diamonds and gems?

Soon, they stopped in front of a house, built in bricks like the others but different from them because of its beautiful, well-cared garden. In Spring, the roses, the daffodils and lilacs were the envy of the city, though at that time of the year they were withered and gone. Constance came out of the car and walked to the door. When she opened it, she found a deadly silence and she did not dare to break it. She left her coat in the coat stand of the hall and headed to the stairs not opening her mouth.

...Too much silence for a meeting...

An idea crossed her mind but she thought that Zhang would not be so miserable as to...

...But she walked slowly, quietly like a cat towards the door of the bedroom and placed her ear on the door. At first, she caught nothing, but then she heard a voice. She pressed her lips. Yes, he was capable of doing it.

The moanings from inside became more and more evident. Her husband! In their bed! She was so furious that she decided to wait in Zhang's office or she would lose her temper and kill him and whoever was with him with her own hands. Once she was there, with the door open to listen well, she breathed deep and tried to calm herself. What made her furious was not that he cheated on her, which was not pleasant but after counting four girls in only one month of marriage it losed impact. No, it was not that: it was that that time he did it in their house, over the sheets they shared! He lied to her again with that tale of the meeting. Now she understood why Humbert was so reluctant to take her home!

Even the servants knew...What humiliation! She was sure that she was the talk of the city, everyone mocking of her!

...But it was over...

She was not going to let that scoundrel ruin her reputation.

_Only one month of marriage...Only one...I didn't want to recur to this but you had it coming...If you think that I am going to bear the shame like some kind of Virgin Mary while you have fun with all the girls of this city, you are very wrong!_

She heard the door open and rush to see who came out of the room from there, covertly, careful that they did not see her. The marquis came out first. He was tidying his fine clothes and his long, thin moustache, so sure that there was nothing to worry about that he did not even look if there was someone out in the corridor. He just walked in silence to the stairs and disappeared. Two minutes later, the girl came out of the room, closing the door behind her. Constance squeezed her hands when she saw that she was no other than Winifred, the cook. Oh, how she wanted to pull her heair and leave her bald, to throw her to the mud and knock her silly! But she was a patient woman. They would have their punishment soon. Both of them. She only had to wait.

That was what she did, wait and think. She thought about how formal he looked when he came into the room and showed his respects to her and poor Frank. Was he a friend of his? Now, he never mentioned him. A friend of a friend? Possibly. That was the first time she saw him. They told her that he was a diplomat, a very serious man, but she had to notice what the uniform hid when he cast his eyes on her during the funeral. He only waited to court her because Frank had died recently and she had to wait a reasonable time to accept any kind of wooing again. That defined Zhang perfectly: an animal dressed with uniform, a man with a great sense of duty and correct behavior only in appearance. How fool she was to believe that men like those were harmless! How could she think that he would respect her decision to take the sexual ambit of marriage slow?

At least he had something good that she liked: lots of money and a title. She could not believe that she turned from a simple farm girl to a marquise in some years.

_All that thanks to my little friend..._

Finally, when she reckoned that it was almost lunch time, she came out of the room and, after making sure that there was no one in the hall, she opened the door and closed it loudly.

"Constance?", Zhang asked from the living room.

"I'm home, darling.", Constance exclaimed. She walked there at the same time that Zhang was going to her encounter.

"We finished the meeting not long ago. Did you see the governor?"

"Hm, no, I got entertained in the dressmaker. Oh, and I found the cufflinks you wanted. They are in the bag Tim is going to bring."

"Excellent. Thank you. Did you find something pretty?"

"Lots and lots of things. I'm afraid I bought too much."

"Well, nothing is too much for the most beautiful woman of the world."

He placed his hand on her chin and kissed her in the lips. Constance closed her eyes and surrounded him with her arms, deepening the kiss. Even if she had to control herself not to bite his tongue and rip it off, she had to recognize he kissed like no other man she had met. When they moved away, she played with his moustache playfully and he took her hand, stopping her and kissing it.

"I want to show you something.", Constance said.

She put her hand into her sleeve and took out the little parcel in which the necklace was. She put it on and showed it to the marquis, who smiled.

"It is marvellous.", he said.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

"Then, I'll wear it for the party."

"Good idea. And I have a little surprise for you."

Constance saw him return to the living room and come back with a little box in his hand. He gave it to Constance, who opened it slowly. Inside, there was a silver ring with blue diamond in the center flanked by a crown of little, sparkling diamonds that made her eyes glitter too. She immediately put it on and saw that it fitted her perfectly.

"Blue, to match your new necklace and your eyes.", Zhang smiled.

"Oh, Zhang...", Constance smiled and hugged him. Chuckling, he kissed her forehead. Then, he moved back. "Well, if you excuse me, I have to send a telegram. We could practice your Chinese after lunch. Yesterday you made a mistake that could ruin your reputation in a social event."

"I'll try harder."

The marquis nodded and left the room. Constance raised her hand to look at the ring closer. Goodness, it was beautiful, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She would have had it in her finger forever. But those things were not convenient to wear too much, they could attract the attention of malicious people or get lost. She went to her bedroom and placed it and her new sapphire gem in her jewelry box. They were good for parties and beautiful dresses but what she liked to wear all the time were her three pearl necklaces, not so appealing but as dear to her as if they were her own children.

Then, she descended the stairs and walked to the kitchen. Winifred was taking the stew out of the fire and placing it near all the other dishes. Constance approached to her with a little smile.

"Is that all?", she asked her.

"Yes, Mrs. de Doom, you can call your husband and sit down.", the cook nodded, cleaning her hands.

Constance nodded and then slapped her face so suddenly and with such force that the cloth fell from her hands and she almost fell with it. The cook turned to her with the mark of Constance's hand very well marked in her face, which was turning red, and placed her hand on it. She received a glare that contrasted enormously with the expression that she had offered her just a couple of seconds before.

"Pack your things and get out of my house right now, you whore.", Constance told her with a low, gruff voice.

Winifred opened her mouth to say or ask something but those blue eyes fixed on her like if she was trying to kill her with them made her desist. Furthermore, her eyes were welling up because of the slap and the circumstances. After some seconds of silence, she stepped back, nodded nervously, took off her apron and rushed to the door. Constance breathed deep, satisfied to have got rid of that woman and let out her frustration.

But that was not the end. Humbert was taking care of the horses and eating outside. He would come back soon. She could lose no time then. She had to do everything before Winifred abandoned the house. It was crazy, some would have said, and there were many risks but Constance wanted to try.

"Zhang! Lunch is ready, dear!", she shouted.

No response. She walked to the opposite side of the room, moved the little table aside and took off the loose tile of the floor, revealing a hole deep enough to introduce one's arm. Zhang told her about it when she moved to the house and it was his idea to place the table there, to avoid any stumbles. She had to thank her husband to show her the perfect hideout for her hatchet. She looked at her reflection in the blade and smiled.

"Zhang!"

"Yes, I heard you, I'm coming!"

Constance put everything back to its place and took the carving knife from the kitchen tools. After a moment of thought, she hid it inside the stew pot, took it and tied her hatchet to her back with her sash before carrying it to the dining room. Zhang was already there, with some papers on the table.

"Uh-uh-uh. No work while eating.", Constance reproached him, leaving the pot on the table.

Zhang chuckled and moved the papers aside. Now that she had her hands free, she grabbed the hatchet.

"Sorry, Constance, but you know, this work req-"

The head of the marquis hit the table and his body leaned a bit.

Constance, losing no time because the servants would be there soon, ran back to the kitchen to put the hatchet into its hideout again and returned to the dining room. She immersed her hand into the pot and took the knife from it. The stew was hot and she had to clean her hand and the knife but at least Zhang had not seen it. She was not interested in fighting against someone like Zhang, who was not only stronger than her previous husbands but also had served many years in the Chinese Army. She grabbed the body and held it with one hand while she stabbed it with the other seven times. The chest, the heart, the lungs, the neck, the back...Then, she let it fall to the carpet and took her time to breathe.

The front door opened and she heard steps. She had to continue her plan.

She grabbed the knife again and looked at it. For a moment, she doubted. It was going to hurt so much...Nothing could assure her that it was going to work...But she had to try, she had to do it before it was too late. She bit her under lip and doubted no more.

First, she made a few cuts in her arms, chest and dress and pulled it to give the appearance of a struggle and brutality. Then, she plunged the knife into her stomach. She let out a gasp and supported herself in the table. Her white dress was dyed with blood. She felt nauseas, sweat running down her forehead.

It was in that moment when the door opened. Humbert stuck his head in before coming in.

"Excuse me, Mrs. de Doom, I only wanted to know if...you..."

His eyes opened wide when he saw the scene. He walked a few steps and became still, shocked by the view of so much blood and the decapitated head of the diplomat on the table. Constance turned around and wobbled towards him. The coachman ran to hold her and his hands became stained with the blood of her own hands.

"W-What-? Mrs. de Doom, what's happened?"

Constance opened her mouth but instead of a faint explanation or a desperate plea, she started screaming:

"HELP! SOME-hugh-ODY PLEASE help!"

"Madame! Please, madame, calm down, I'm here!", Humbert exclaimed, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Calm down, everything is going to-"

"NOOO! PLEASE, NOOOO!"

"Calm down, please!"

Constance heard steps. Everything was becoming blurry and she could barely stand up but she did an effort to place her hand on Humbert's chest, leaving the mark of her bloodstained hand, and gave him the knife. Humbert looked at it with a confused expression. He muttered something, not understanding, while Constance fell on the carpet and huffed, touching her wound. It hurt but it all was worth it when Winifred came into the room. She had changed her clothes, surely obeying Constance's orders to leave the house, and had lost a shoe in the way. She looked first at her mistress lying on the floor with her belly bleeding, then, at the head of her master on the table while his body spilled all its blood a few steps away from it, and, finally, at the coachman with his clothes full of blood and a knife in his hand. She covered her mouth after letting out a scream and ran out of the room.

"HELP! SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!"

"W-What? N-No, wait! Miss Bacon, please, wait!", the cook had already fled and her screams echoed in the street. "I didn't do it! Mrs. de Doom..."

He controlled his impulse to chase her and turned to Constance. She looked at him to the eyes and drew a smile. Humbert stepped back and shook his head slightly, slowly, because of his incredulity. Constance could see his chest come up and down anxiously.

"...You...You did...", he muttered.

The front door opened with violence and three men, one of them their neighbor, Mr. Thompson, and one policeman, pounced on the coachman, who dropped the knife and struggled against them. Winifred could not stop screaming and whining.

"No! No!"

"Tell that woman to shut up and call a doctor! The mistress is still alive!", the policeman grunted.

"Come here, you murderer!", the man Constance did not recognize said, dragging Humbert out.

"NO! It's all a mistake! SHE DID IT! SHE DID IT!"

What happened next was unknown for Constance. She only distinguished the blurred image of a skirt and two pairs of legs in front of her and the feeling of a hand touching her arm before she lost conscience.

* * *

Everything was dark. Even if she had her eyes open, she could only see black.

She felt that she was lying on a rather comfortable bed, probably in a hospital. The injure in her stomach still hurt a lot, so she did not try to move. She did not know if she was still bleeding...she hoped not. The wound was not supposed to kill herself.

After all that had happened, she felt very calm. The excitement (and she was surprised to have that word in her head) of the ellaboration of her crime had passed and she only thought about answering the routine inquiries of the investigation. Well, that and Zhang's blood on her hands.

"There she is."

Constance closed her eyes immediately and listened with attention. She heard some steps towards her. More than one person were approaching to the bed. She smelled soon a not very pleasant mixture of cologne, whisky and tobacco. For a moment, she thought that it was some kind of bum until she heard those authoritarian voices.

"Will she live?"

"She will recover soon. We've had to operate on her but she is now out of danger. The knife did not affect essential organs, though she lost much blood. It is a luck that they brought her soon."

"Humbert was going to silence her after killing her husband when the cook heard the voices and distracted him."

"Was she the one who called the police?"

"Yes, an officer that was in his usual patrolling and some men in the streets reduced the killer. He was very nervous and it was not easy to take him to jail."

"I can imagine it. What has he said?"

"He insists that the widow beheaded the diplomat."

"That's all he can invent? Pff, how can a young woman like this reduce a man like de Doom, behead him with a kitchen knife and injure herself? Nonsense."

"Humbert was heard raving about the marquis in the local tavern. The waitress has confirmed it to us a couple of hours ago. According to him, he did not pay him enough and menaced to dismiss him because of some neglects in his work. He said that one of these days he would teach him a lesson he would never forget."

"What about the cook?"

"Oh, the mistress had dismissed her just some minutes before the attack. She told us that she made a terrible mistake that made her furious. She left the food and went upstairs to prepare to go. Then, she heard Mr. de Doom crying for help and found her wounded and Humbert in front of her with the knife."

"She will have to declare in the trial, of course, when she wakes up."

"That won't be necessary. He had a motive, he had access to the weapon while the cook was out, he had the strength necessary to stab and decapitate a man...The parents of the widow will come tomorrow. A lot of arrangements have to be made, you know. Apparently, this woman lost two other husbands murdered too but this time she has seen the author and she almost died with her husband. She will be too weak and disconsolate to testify. And, well, Humbert is doomed."

"Will they execute him?"

"Being the murderer a diplomat, surely. China has been pressing, apparently."

Silence.

"She is pretty, isn't she?"

"Well, now she is free, Lawrence. Go ahead."

The other replied something but they walked away and Constance could not catch all their words. If she had been completely sure that there was no one around, she would have laughed at that. Yes, she was free and glad to know that her pretty face and her wit had saved her from the gallows and made her win a pretty good sum of money.


	5. Reginald

1875

* * *

When Constance opened the door and came into the house, a great silence and the service in the hall received her. Her smile faded when she noticed the expression of all of them and turned her head to the closed door of the living room.

_Reggie's home_

"Is she here?", his voice grunted inside of that room, perfectly audible.

Princeton, the butler, did not reply immediately. "Y-Yes, master."

"Tell her to come here at once."

Princeton looked at Constance and she sighed.

"You don't have to tell me anything. I'm coming.", she said.

She gave the maid her coat and hat (she noticed that she had a new bruise in her arm) and opened the sliding door. The living room was very silent, so silent that the only sound was the ticking of the longcase clock. Reginald was sat on his armchair with a lit cigar on one hand and his cane on the other. When Constance came in, he dragged his cigar and expelled the smoke slowly through his nostrils. In many aspects, Reginald was like a pig. His double chin, which was much more evident when he sat down, he was so fat that Constance was sure that he could not run and when he lost his temper his voice sounded like the grunts of that animal. But Constance never expressed that similarity aloud: it would have been an insult to those poor animals.

"Close the door.", Reginald said.

Constance obeyed. Reginald still did not look at her.

"Come here.", he ordered her then.

Constance walked to him with all calmness. When she was in front of him, Reginald exhaled the smoke with even more tranquility. That was another bad sign but Constace stood there in silence, impassive, making eye contact with him. After some seconds of absolute silence, Reginald held his cigar in his lips, got up and approached to her, caressing his cane with his hand.

"Where have you been?", he asked to her.

"Buying new furniture for the bedroom.", Constance replied.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"You have taste for food but not for decoration, dear, you must admit it. What's the matter? Can't I get out of the house without your consent?"

Reginald gave another puff to his cigar and expulsed the smoke right in Constance's face, who hated tobacco but did not react at all.

Her father did well telling him about her disgrace. That old man was a pervert who surely had his eyes on her since she grew up and now that she was a free woman, and better, a marquise with a good fortune and no burdens, thought that she was going to be as submissive as his old 'friend', he thought that she was still the little girl that admired him and was a little afraid of him, now a weak woman after the tragic events she had had to deal with. But no. Of course of not. Reginald had a short temper but he was only a child in the body of a fifty-year-old man who needed a mother by his side to take care of him and praise every single stupidity he did. He was all bark and no bite if one managed well, she had confirmed during their courtship, engagement and three weeks of marriage. Effectively, after that, he went straight to the point, forgetting her insolence.

"I've received a letter from Williams.", Reginald said with his deep voice, breaking the silence abruptly. "We are going to Cleveland next Friday."

"Impossible. I promised to go to Helen's party.", Constance replied.

"I am telling you, not asking you. I have too much to win or lose with this contract and I need you by my side. You should honor your name too."

"I didn't know that baronesses had to act like trophies or diamonds one shows to other people."

"I'd be glad if you were a trophie or a diamond: that way you wouldn't say a word. You are going to that meeting and I want your best looks, understood?"

"Maybe."

"What do you mean by 'maybe'?"

"Maybe. That's what I mean."

"Constance, I'm not in the mood for one of your games.", like he always did when he started to lose his patience, Reginald breathed louder and his voice became deeper. Smoke escaped from his mouth as he talked.

Constance offered him a smile.

"Don't be angry, Reggie. We can arrive at an agreement. Oh, sorry. Mr. Baron."

Reginald dragged his cigar and smirked slightly. Seeing his expression, it looked like they were thinking about the same thing: those times in which he came home to visit her father and she sat on his lap and called him Mr. Baron because she liked that word she did not fully understood. That was very long ago, when she was Little Connie and not Constance and he was only one rich friend of her father, not her husband. If someone had told her that the old man would end up marrying her, she would have never believed it.

Reginald extended his arm to touch her fourth pearl necklace.

"You like agreements too much. What kind of husband has to deal with his wife to do what he wants?"

"A reasonable one."

Reginald gave the cigar a puff and exhaled the smoke aside, looking at Constance with that smile he used to show her when she was a child.

"But what could you offer to me? You owe the titles you have to me and de Doom. Your money is mine. All you have is your dresses and your pretty jewels, and not all of them, because those you wear right now I bought them for you. You can't receive without giving something in exchange. You don't want to go to Cleveland with me. It's not that I care if you come or stay but they want to know you and going there without you won't be good for my image. That old, blasted Williams will think that I invented it all. How could you compensate that?"

Constance smirked.

"I know what you're thinking about and you know my answer. I can't believe you could imagine that I would do something of the sort."

"Oh, yes, that stupid condition..."

"Sorry, I can negotiate with many things but not that."

"God! Have I married a nun by chance?"

"Of course of not but I need time, Reggie, you know it. Now that you are here, help me tie this, please."

But Reginald did not help her tie her bow.

"One of these days we will have to consummate our marriage, don't you think?"

"Reggie, my three previous husbands died...they were murdered...", Constane said that last word with a saddened expression and paused. "Thinking of going to bed with another man..."

"You did not have that problem when you said yes."

"I thought you hated children."

"I do but there are things one has to do in life."

Constance sighed, tied the bow herself and turned to him with an offended expression.

"Please."

Reginald sighed too, almost grunted and looked at the wall.

"You said that I treat you like a trophy but you are a expensive one I can't make use of and not even have on my shelf. Benedict sold you well, he really did. Hell..."

"Oh, stop it and go check the cook. I'm hungry and I'm sure he is lazing around again."

She turned around and walked to the door but Reginald put out his cigar in the ashtray and grabbed her hand.

"I'm not done with you, you manipulative witch!", he snapped.

"Reggie!"

"No Reggie, show a little respect. You are coming and I don't want to hear more nonsense from you."

"Respect is something that one earns.", she shook her hand and released it. "And I told you that I already have plans."

"I'm warning you."

"We'll talk later, when you have calmed down."

Constance turned around and was ready to leave the room when Reginald grabbed her arm with such violence that she let out a gasp. Even if he looked like just a ball of fat, Reginald was strong, very strong. He looked at her with the same expression as an angry bull and all those who knew him knew that he was way more deadly than one of those. Though Constance did not want to, she started feeling scared.

"Where do you think you're going?", he hissed.

"Let me go! Reginald!", Constance exclaimed, pulling her arm.

"You seem to be too accostumed to do and say everything you want because of your tragedy but the game is over, your majesty. I am your husband and you are my wife and the least a wife owes to her husband is respect and obedience. I said you are coming with me and there is nothing else to say, understood? I have been too patient with you and my patience has a limit. You don't want to cross that limit, Constance, oh, you don't.", Constance tried to hit him but he grabbed her hand and sneered. "You are nothing but an ungrateful brat, you always were. Your father convinces me to marry you, after all your former husbands were decapitated, because who would marry someone like you after that? No one! And what would a selfish, useless child like you do alone in the world? Waste your money in jewels, furniture and dresses! I give you all I have: a great house, servants to attend your needs, caprices, a higher position in society, and how do you pay me? Behaving like a capricious, stupid little girl! Do you know how many girls like you would have killed to be in your shoes? Huh?"

"I would have rather died, ruin myself alone before marrying you if I had known about the PIG you are!"

She had barely ended the sentence when Reginald released the hand that was holding her arm to slap her with such violence that she hit the floor. It hurt so much that a little tear ran down her cheek, despite all her efforts to keep her dignity intact after that. But, truth be told, it would have been much worst: his right hand squeezed his cane and for a moment Constance thought that he was going to smash her head. She had heard rumors about him killing a young boy after losing a card game before the wedding that she only thought they were exaggerations but Reginald himself confirmed them to her. He killed that twelve-year-old black boy with his cane, his only crime being having bumped into him accidentally; and Constance thought she was going to end up like him. If he was never judge for this crime because the boy was just a black orphan and Reginald had a great prestige and very powerful friends, he would have never been reproached for teaching his own wife a lesson.

Reginald did not give her time to get up. He was still grabbing her arm and made her get up with a violent pull. Then, without any kind of delicacy, so little that Constance heard some parts unstitching, he took off her orange dress.

"What are you doing?! Stop!", Constance exclaimed, struggling.

"Shut up!"

He dropped the clothes to the carpet and, with furious jerks, removed her bracelet and rings, leaving her only with her underwear and pearls on. Constance was so terrified by what she thought he was intending to do that she desperately tried to hit him.

"Reginald! No! Stop! What are you doing?!"

"Didn't you want to be left alone? Alright. I'll leave you alone, but I'll take my things first, don't you think?"

Then, he dragged her out of the room inspite of her attempts to escape, in which she lost her shoes. The service was still outside, waiting for orders, as usual, and by the movement that Constance saw when they came out of the living room, she was sure that they had been listening to their conversation or had been alerted by the screams. All of them were looking at her and she wanted to die because of the shame of being seen not only in petticoat and with her hairdo undone, but because she was supposed to be the only person in the house that was not afraid of the master and there she was. She avoided their eyes, following every single movement she did with surprise and fear, maybe pity.

"If one of you dares to approach to her, I'll smash their head.", Reginald grunted, turning to them.

He received no nods and no one opened their mouth either. The servants just watched them walk out of the building, very few daring to look at the master.

"Leave me alone! Let me go!", Constance roared, hitting him and sinking her nails in her husband's arms and back.

Reginald did not respond to her attacks. All he had to say had been said with his slap. He just drove her out of the manor and, impassive to her screams, walked the paved way that crossed the garden, which the gardener had prettied up just a couple of hours ago, in direction to the stable.

"Reginald!"

He opened the doors of the barn and the smell of the animals hit Constance's nose. After years of a more refined way of life, not having to touch a horse if it wasn't to ride it, it smelled absolutely horrible. Reginald pushed her and made her fall to the ground.

"You'll stay here until you learn where is your place, Little Connie."

Constance got up but Reginald was faster going out and locking her. Constance hit and kicked the door.

"REGINALD! REGINALD!"

No one replied. After he locked the door, Constance found herself almost in darkness. She tried to open the windows or any way of escaping from there but Reginald had lost no time and closed them too. She was trapped.

She lost the account of how much time she spent running here and there trying to find any way out, for how long did she scream until her voice broke and she was not able to continue without hurting her throat.

Hours seemed to have passed. The horses witnessed the mistress of the house yell, then whisper, and stop her walking to fall on her knees. It was cold in there and she was in underwear, so she hugged herself, curled up in a corner. She only saw shadows and not much else around her, not only because of the darkness, but also because she had lost all interest in what surrounded her. Her mind only could focus in Reginald.

_I'M GOING TO KILL HIM! I'M GOING TO KILL HIM! HOW CAN HE DARE TO-? WHAT DOES HE THINK I AM?! THAT PIG, THAT BASTARD! I WANT TO KILL HIM!_

It was such the hate she felt that she got up and let out her rage kicking the walls and scratching herself to the point that blood came out of her wounds.

Oh, how she would have loved to let him know that she was the one who killed her husbands with her own hands before finishing with his life! She was not thinking about the money in that moment. She knew Reginald was not going to live long but after that she wanted to have his head in her hands in that moment. There was nothing she wanted more in the world.

She ended up tired of such physical and mental effort and sat on the floor full of straw, at the end of the stable, far away from the door. She did not know what time it was but almost all the horses were resting and she was practically in the dark, to the point that she had to guide herself feeling the ground and the walls. Her stomach started protesting, making the horse that was near her, _Pegasus_, open his eyes, look around and close them again. She was so hungry...For how long would Reginald keep her there? Knowing him, probably enough time to make her desperate and beg him.

Cold, dirty and hungry...There was Constance Hatchaway, the marquise, the wife of the railroad baron...

But she would never ask that man for forgiveness. She had never asked forgiveness to anyone, not even God after all she had done, why would she humilliate herself in front of that stupid man? She would give him his lesson. Her plan could go to hell! She would not let him live any longer. She would think of an alibi in another moment, her blood was boiling and there was no way she could forgive such offense. Her hate drove her to stand up again and walk to her favourite horse, _Jojo. _When Constane opened the door and came in, the stallion which had been lying on the floor, sleeping, raised his head and looked at her. Constance approached to it and whispered to him while stroking his long, thick neck. Then, she walked to a side of his cubicule and rummaged the straw that covered the floor. She searched for a minute until her eyes made contact with the frozen hatchet. She had placed it just a few days ago and it was supposed to be a provisional hideout for it while she found a good place to hide it inside the house but now she was very glad that she did not have time to do it and that _Jojo _had not deformed it with his hooves, as it was in a corner.

She had the impulse of pressing the weapon against her chest while she returned back to the place where she had been sat before.

That was the only one she could trust in.

Her father had pressed Reginald and she to get married even knowing Reginald's character. He did not respect anyone and less a woman. No one out there would help her, never. She had not seen her friends in years, in such way that she considered that she did not have any true one.

All she had was her hatchet and her money.

"Constance."

The door of the stables suddenly opened with a tremendous creak and light illuminated the place, making Constance recover her sense of orientation. She got up and smiled to herself.

"Constance?"

Reginald slowly came in. He carried a lantern in one hand and a dress in the other.

"I am very sorry, my dear, but you made me do this...Come. Let's go home. It's late."

No one replied or came to him. He took a step in.

"Don't be angry, Connie, dear. I only do this for your own good. Come on, I told the cook to save you a bit o-"

One single blow was not enough to make his head fall but Constance managed to make a cut that made it hang just by a portion of neck. When the baron fell to the ground, she approached to him and finished the job with a stronger hit.

Constance took the lantern before it set fire to the straw all around the barn and hanged it on the wall to see the mess. It was a luck that Reginald did not bleed much but she still had to do something with the blood. That could wait for a moment. What she did before anything else was to take Reginald's head, hold it in front of her face and smile. His eyes and mouth were wide open in an expression of puzzlement.

"I am very sorry, my dear. But you made me do this.", she whispered. Then, she kissed his lifeless lips gently, tasting the sweet blood of his mouth.

After that, she dropped the head, placed her hands on her hips and pondered about what to do. All that blood, how to get rid of it? A neigh made her realize how simple the solution was. She took the lantern again and walked to one of the horses. If she remembered well, _Cherry _was...Yes, she found the mare lying on the straw but not sleeping. She was about to give birth, just what Constance had heard the stableman say to Princeton. She could even see the white bubble coming out of her vagina. Quickly, she took the straw that was stained with Reginald's blood and put it around the animal, so that when the foal was born it was mixed with the fluids of the birth. Though _Cherry _turned to her and followed the opperation with her head, Constance ignored her completely. She had to get rid of the body but she could not just leave it there and return to the house. While she put the dress he had brought for her on, she thought about it and soon she had the solution. She slowly came out of the stable and looked around. It was surely late at night. There were no light coming out of the windows and everything was extremely silent. The car was outside. Now that there was no one around, it was her chance. She grabbed Reginald's body by the armpit and dragged him out. It was extremely laborious due to his weight, there were moments in which she was not sure that she would be able to do it. After a good while, she managed to lift him and get him on it. She had put such effort in it that she had to stopped for a moment to clean the sweat of her face and recover her breath. It took her a long time and then she was ready to continue. She took the head, left it with the rest of the corpse and returned once again to the stable to take _Jojo _and prepared it to ride the cart. Though annoyed for having been woken up, the horse did all she wanted. Constance closed the door of the barn and opened the gates, drove the car out of the lands of the baron and drove away.

There were many places where she could have left the body. The forest, the other extreme of the city, but she had a certain place in mind. It was not very far away from the city: the Washington Lake. Practically in the middle of nowhere, it was a little lake placed in the bottom of a big hill, full of bushes and crags, practically no one went there, since the water was not potable and it was not a safe place to swim. The travel prolonged for at least half an hour, maybe a little more. It was a luck that there was no one in those dark paths at night. Constance was tired and had no idea of what hour it was but turning her head towards the body, properly hidden under a blanket she found in the stable, was enough to make her smile.

She finally arrived. In the darkness, it was almost like walking towards the absolute nothing. She was even surprised that she did not fall in the way. Holding the lantern in her hand, she inspected the surroundings. Of course, no one around, the only thing she heard and saw were the nocturnal animals that loitered in the dark of the night, so she did not care at all about them. With the same trouble with she got Reginald's corpse into the car, she grabbed it and dragged him to the abyss. And with the little ceremony with which she beheaded him, she kicked his back and made him roll down the hill. She waited...and waited...and waited...until she heard a splash. She could not see where he had fallen but the truth was that she did not care. She took then the head and, just like if it was a ball, she threw it. She heard leaves and branches cracking, probably because it had fallen into a bush or a tree.

Now that the work was done, she returned to the house. It was good that no one had noticed the horse coming in and out nor the doors closing. In that place, under Reginald's tyranny, no one questioned anything and they were too busy being scared to let trifles distract them; besides, they were surely sleeping. Thinking about it, Constance needed some sleep too. Instead of returning to the stable, she came into the house and went straight to her comfortable, clean bed. She would take the greatest bath she ever took in her life the following day. She would tell the servants that she escaped too. They knew she was capable of doing such thing, so they would not be too surprised. And Reginald...well, she would think about that later. She put her nightgown on and lied on her bed. Without Reginald there, she had a lot of space to sleep comfortably. In almost no time, she fell completely asleep.

* * *

1876

* * *

The policeman took off his hat and Constance knew in that moment by his gesture what he came for. She would have expressed her happiness but she had to play the actress, so she took a long sip to her tea and left the cup on its plate, which she held with a slightly trembling hand. She did not look at the man but at his trousers.

"...Did you...find him?", she asked in low voice.

"Yes...I am so sorry, Mrs. Cane...", the policeman replied, looking at her with compassion. He opened his mouth to give her details but decided that it was a too painful situation to add those horrible things.

Constance took air and tried to control herself but soon she started to sob. Her maid placed her hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Her expression and her co-worker's was of shock, even if everyone in the country had given him up for dead after so much time without news of him.

"I am very sorry...", the policeman repeated.

"...He had...character...", Constance whined. "...He had a strong character...But he was a great man...He really was...Sniff..."


	6. George

1877

* * *

One decapitated husband was horrible. Two, a tragic coincidence. Three, a joke of destiny. But four were too much. Constance thought it was a miracle that she was free. She had been careful, of course, and there were no prooves that could incriminate her, but the suspicions were there. Of course they were there: who would not have suspected of a woman whose four husbands had been brutally murdered in the exact same way? Reginald's death had been very risky. She hated to admit that the rage that impulsed her to kill him that precise night prevented her from preparing an inarguable alibi. That time, she had a good reason to kill him, the servants knew that she had escaped and did not see what she had been doing until she reappeared in the house, and so she could have beheaded him perfectly. With his death, she became heir of his fortune, a very considerable amount. Police had been pressing her. Fortunately, all their doubts were not enough to incriminate her: the weapon of the crime had not appeared, and there was nothing in the stable she could have used to behead him; there were not even traces that could determine the exact place where the crime was commited; Reginald went to his bedroom after dinner and none of the servants saw him leave; but, most of all, everyone in the house had the same reasons to kill him. He was known to be very violent and all men and women that had contact with him had suffered his blows and insults, so it was not only Constance the one who could have killed him in vengeance.

Yes, they had left her alone for that time but one more mistake and she would see herself with a noose around her neck. At first, she thought about ending with all that plot and move to the other coast and have a nice, peaceful life. That would have been the easiest, most prudent action she could have done. But for many years she had her eyes on one of the greatest fortunes of North America and she would not give up before getting her hands on it. Her pride did not allow it.

The Hightowers were a wealthy family of Newport Beach whose name was very known in all the United States. The two sons, George and Harrison Hightower III, had founded a chain of luxurious hotels that were present all around the country, named Tower. Harrison himself lived in his favourite one, the emblem of the company: the Hollywood Tower Hotel in Los Angeles. Their younger sister, Abigale, had built a successful spa in South Virginia.

Discarding Abigale, Constance had wondered for months to which of the two brothers she should approach to. Harrison was the youngest, in his late thirties, though he was a sullen person, or at least that was what everyone said, he liked to travel and was in fact a member of the Society of Explorers and Adventurers, devoting himself to collect all kinds of treasures and antiquities of the places he had been to. He would take her everywhere she wanted and give her curious, expensive presents for sure. But rumors said that he never had plans to marry. When a man of that age and with so much money was alone, it definitely meant that he had no such plans. Also, she had had enough of rude husbands, she missed men like Ambrose or Frank, who at least were sweet to her. George seemed to be that kind of man. He was around fourty and, as he had declared a couple of times, had always been too busy to fall in love. But those years he had been in search of a wife to live with in Gracey manor, in Anaheim. Constance had heard about that mansion. Those who had seen it had been fascinated by its size and beauty, a complete work of art...A house like that had to be hers. And George's part of the business too, which was not little. She had chosen Reginald over him because, even if his proposal was not expected, the railroad business had given him lots of money and he was a baron, but she had always had George in mind. Reginald would not be with her forever and George, though he was not a noble and their incomes were similar, maybe a little lower than Reginald's, he had such a prestige in the country that, if she married him, she would have the rest of her life settled.

The plans she had been elaborating even before marrying Reginald finally were carried out after the mourning time, though this time she did not lose much time pretending to cry him. With the excuse of leaving that house and suffer her pain alone, she sold the Cane residence and moved to Orange County, where, fortunately, no one knew her or the news about the horrible murders had been forgotten, and so she could abandon that stupid practice. There, she made sure to be informed of all the parties George attended and managed to be invited to them. It was not easy but she finally met him in September, in his birthday party. Constance had attended with a friend called Stephanie and she was extremely glad to notice that he was interested in her since the very moment they were introduced. The fact that he did not mention her widowhood even once or treated her as a poor girl was a good sign. He knew nothing. Better, because if one dead husband was enough to dispel suitors, four husbands killed in strange circumstances would have spoiled her plan completely. All he knew is that she was a baroness and nothing else. In fact, he did not have to know anything else.

That day was excellent. They talked all afternoon, bothering people who also wanted to have a nice time with the birthday man. When Constance left the house at night, she had learned many things about George that she liked: he had studied in Harvard but left his studies to create the firm of hotels with his brother and two other friends, played piano with enthusiasm and had the same interest as she had in travelling. But the best thing that happened that day was that he fell in love with her. Poor fool! Since that day, she received numerous gifts, like flowers and jewels, invited her to his holidays in his beach house and have a little snack in his house.

Those times Constance had admired the manor and could not wait to see herself the mistress of that estate. It was gigantic, brick manor surrounded by pretty trees and a lovely pond where George liked to feed a bunch of ducks and big fish. The interior was absolutely exquisite and had so many rooms that it looked more like a hotel than a house for a single family. The only thing that Constance did not like was the graveyard. The garden, though pretty, was inevitably spoiled by lots of tombs, a good amount of it, so many that Constance did not even bother to count. George did not seem to care much about it but she did and one day, while they were strolling around the numerous graves, some of them with very bad taste ("At peaceful rest lies Brother Claude, planted here beneath this sod", who could have written such thing?), she asked him why he did not do anything about it.

"It would be a terrible lack of respect and a recklessness to take the bodies somewhere else.", George said.

"I understand the lack of respect but a recklessness? Why?", Constance asked.

"Well, people have a great imagination...But very curious things happen in this house."

"What kind of things?"

"They say that those who lose their lives here or receive sepulture here never rest in peace. That they are cursed to roam in this world as spirits."

"I didn't know you were a superstitious man, George."

"I'm not, but since I moved here, I can't really tell the difference of what is superstition and what is real...", he pointed at Constance one grave in front of her. "Do you see that grave?"

Constance inspected it. A big tombstone that in a way looked like a big bathtub, with a statue lying on it. The epitaph said: 'Here floats Captain Culpepper Clyde. He braved the sea and all her wrath, but drowned on land while taking a bath'. She turned her head to George.

"Yes?"

"I knew him. He was a friend of mine. A bit of a crackpot but a great man. One night he appeared at my door, completely drunk. He loved alcohol way too much but that time he had a good reason to drink: his wife had left him and took their children with her. Emma and I took care of him as we could but he was completely intoxicated, cursing his wife and her lover, singing, yelling, crying, singing again...And I have a work to attend and some necessities, so I went to bed and left him alone...You don't know how repented I am for having done that because the poor rascal locked himself in the bath and I don't know what on earth did he do that next morning, after some hours trying to open the door, we found him drowned. He did not have a single penny to his name and his family had repudiated him completely, so I made sure that he had at least a place to rest, here...Some days later...I saw him."

Constance raised an eyebrow.

"The captain?"

"Yes. It was late. I was about to go to bed when I heard someone singing _Drunken Sailor. _You can imagine my surprise when hearing that voice that was not any of my servants', in fact, it was one that I knew. Yes, I know it is impossible. Horatio was dead, I said to myself. But I still heard it. It was him. It wasn't my imagination, it was him. It came from the bathroom where he died. Slowly, I approached to it. When I came in, he was not there. But the bathtub was overflown with water and seaweed, and there were traces of soaked boots coming out of the bathroom from the door...You don't believe me, right?"

"Well...It is a very...fantastic story, George."

"I am not the only one to believe in ghosts. Everyone in the town thought I was crazy when I bought the manor. They say that it was built on sacred Indian burial grounds, I have heard that the land witnessed so much horror in the past that no soul can rest in peace in there. Anyway, everyone is scared of going there. Three maids and two butlers have left their post, saying that they saw horrible figures in the corridors. Emma herself, who is a very reasonable girl told me yesterday that she saw two figures in the graveyard singing opera at night and a voice coming from the walls that told her that we had ran out of napkins. All people I have encountered in this town think that we are going to end up like the previous householders."

"Why? What happened to them?"

"Well...Rumors say that the construction of this mansion angered the spirits living here and those who lived in there died in fateful circumstances. The first master, Edward Gracey, Henry Ravenswood, the gold tycoon, and their families and servants, some friends...Only those who escaped in time survived."

"You have nice neighbors, as I see."

"They only want to help.", George shrugged in such a careless way that Constance could not help letting out a little giggle. "As longs as they let me work and sleep, I have no problem with living in a haunted mansion. What about you?"

"Me? Well, I don't believe in those things, honestly."

"So you would be able to live here without fear?"

"Hmmm, yes, I think so."

"Good because I want you to be my wife."

At first, seeing his dumb smile, Constance thought that he was kidding but his eyes were so full of hope and expectancy that she realized that he was serious. She became blocked for a moment, as all women who are asked in marriage must be, then, she hugged him and said 'yes'. It was all done now.

The wedding and the excitement about her trap working made Constance forget completely about those ghosts stories. She thought that the service and George himself had been affected by the tales that the villagers had drilled in their heads. All the sounds and shadows were absolutely normal in such a big, old, dark mansion.

_People who believe in ghosts are stupid... _She was very convinced of that.

But she was surprised that someone like Reverend Bloodmere also believed in such things. He was the priest that married her and George and a great authority in the town. The reason why his opinion in the matter was more valuable was that Bloodmere, in spite of his religious convictions, was a very reasonable man, accepting and being interested in the new scientific discoveries. His own appearance was serious: he almost never smiled, though that did not mean that he was a gloomy, rude person, hs eyes looked severe and his old age gave the impression that he could not take those things seriously. If someone like Bloodmere believed in ghosts as well, then the whole region was mad!

"I know what you are thinking.", the reverend told her. George was in the tailor's and he had gone to their house to have a cup of tea with Constance. He had the custom of sharing his free time with those he was fond of and Constance was such a lovely neighbor that he liked to be with her. "How can I believe in those things?"

"No offense, Reverend." Constance said, nodding slightly. "But I just thought you believe in other kind of spirits."

"Well, but the world is very rich, who knows what kind of beings wander in it?"

"True but I assure you that there are no ghosts in here. In the two weeks I've been here, I haven't seen anything abnormal."

"Two weeks is not a long time. Just in case, you should be careful. No one knows what can happen in a cursed place like this. I am very worried about Emma's baby."

"Emma will be fine. I told her to request leave but she declined, so she knows perfectly what she is doing. And if you are so worried about us, why don't you exorcize the house, Reverend?"

"Do you really think that I am the first one to try it? Oh, Mrs. Hightower, you have no idea of the horrors this land has witnessed. Sometimes I think that not even God's grace can do something about it."

"Well, I hope the Lord helps us with the contract at least. If everything goes well, we will have a Tower Hotel in Anaheim and the whole town will benefit from that."

"That is true. Oh, I almost forgot...You husband asked me last weekend to find some newspapers for him.", he opened his suitcase and put a few old papers on the coffe table, next to the cups and plates. "I expected to give them to him in person but since he is not here..."

"Yes, he always has something to do. Thank you, Reverend. I'll give them to him."

Constance only skimmed at them, wondering why would George want old newspapers for, but her eye caught a sentence. 'Reginald Cane found dead.'. Her heart skipped a beat but she did not let the man notice. She smiled at him as he got up from the couch and took his things.

"I have to go now.", he announced.

"So soon, Reverend?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Miss O'Hara and young Bill want to arrange their marriage and I promised to be at their house at five o'clock. And you know that I appreciate punctuality."

"I understand. I hope to repeat this soon, then."

"You can be sure of that. Thank you for such delicious tea. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, sir. Have a nice afternoon."

Emma accompanied Reverend Bloodmere outside and they had barely closed the parlor's door when Constance sat again, took the papers and looked at the headlines anxiously.

_"Fatal burglary. A young farmer is beheaded during assault in Poppy Lane."_

_"Macabre discovering in Money County. Banker Mr. Banks is found buried in his garden with his head cut."_

_"Tim Humbert found guilty of murdering the Marquis de Doom."_

_"Reginald Cane found dead. After a year disappeared, the baron is found beheaded in Washington Lake."_

Leaving the newspapers on the table, Constance covered her mouth. George had been looking for newspapers in which the story of her crimes were told! She thought she knew what they meant and she did not like it.

_...He knows..._

Of course! The newspapers! And he may have been told about the killings of her past husbands. She knew that she could not hide it forever but she did not expect him to notice so soon. That changed things. She had to get rid of him quick. That night. She could not let him tell the police his suspitions, it was not convenient that they investigated the beheadings again. Would Reverend Bloodmere know too? Possibly...But she was not sure if she should kill him too. In that moment she was too confused to think about his destiny. Too soon, too soon!

She could not destroy the papers, that would only make the men know that she was hidings something. She would give them to George but she had to act quickly or it could mean her ruin. She had to kill George soon, that same day!

"Connie?"

The door opened and George came in, wearing a new, black suit with a red bow tie.

"I found Bloodmere at the door. He says that the suit makes me look fat, what do you think?"

"Oh, I'm sure he was joking. You look handsome.", Constance smiled, kissing his lips.

"Thank you, my love, but I think that you see me with a too much favorable light. I am almost bald and old, and, on top of that, fat."

"Well, you still have much hair. All you lose goes to your moustache. You are not very old and, well, I still like you."

George chuckled and kissed her lips. In spite of his ticklish moustache, Constance liked being so close to him. He did not smoke or drink, and though he did not like to wear perfumes, his smell was not bad. His body was warm and he had the ability of making those who hugged him feel...safe.

_Poor George...You should have chosen your wife better..._

"The Reverend left you some newspapers.", Constance said, pointing at the papers on the table.

"Ah, he found them! Thank you so much. We have to invite him to have dinner. He is a very delightful man, and very thoughtful. It is a surprise that he is not married."

"Oh, yes. Well, I'm going to change myself."

"Alright, I'll practice a bit the piano until you are ready to go."

"Fine."

Constance walked out of the room but before going away she turned to watch George. He had one of the papers in his hand and was reading the headlines with interest. She crossed the corridor discreetly and took a look at the kitchen. The servants, knowing that the master and mistress were going to dine out that night, were relaxed and preparing their own food, chattering and laughing. All of them were there. Well, not all of them. She found Emma in the servants' room, folding the clothes, stopping only to caress her swollen belly. But that was not a problem. All of them were entertained, and it was what mattered. George's piano was in the second floor and if she was quick they would not see a thing.

The hatchet was in the attic, hidden inside an old wardrobe she had in her bedroom when she was married with Frank. It was calling to her.

* * *

_Ninety years without slumbering_  
_Tick, tock, tick, tock,_  
_His life seconds numbering,_  
_Tick, tock, tick, tock_  
_It stopp'd short, Never to go again_  
_When the old man died._

George stopped playing for a moment and, not turning around, listened carefully. Leaving aside the echo of the notes, he heard nothing. The man was still for a moment and then shook his head and resumed the song.

_In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,_  
_Many hours had he spent while a boy;_  
_And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know,_  
_And to share both his grief and his joy._  
_For it struck twenty-four when he enter-_

He stopped again. Now he had clearly heard something. Not moving a single muscle, he listened.

In the middle of the silence of the room, of the whole floor, a heartbeat was heard. What kind of heartbeat could have been heard at that distance? He tried to remain calm but it was difficult not to turn around. The sound was coming closer and closer. His hands were on the keys of the piano, trembling a bit. One of the maids had cried for almost all morning after seeing what she described as a "bride with a glowing, beating chest and a terrific expression of dread, wandering the corridors with a candle in her hand" last month; her horror had been such that she could not bear being in the house for one more minute. Was that what he was hearing? He could not even bring himself to turn around and see. Maybe if he did not do anything it would go away. He had to forget it was there. He tried to continue playing but he was completely lost and he could not even interpret the partiture, all his mind was on the heartbeat.

_Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump_

_..._

...

It was gone! All of a sudden, it was gone...George sighed in relief, but his whole body was still tense. He slowly got up and turned around.

It was not a ghost what he saw coming to him. It was Constance.

It was not a candle what she had in her hand. It was a hatchet.

It was not a expression of dread what he saw in her face. It was a sinister smile.

Before he could open his mouth, Constance ran to him, brandishing the weapon with the intention of killing him.

"Till death do us part, Georgie!", she laughed.

That George could avoid the blow was a miracle. The hatchet hit the piano, making a severe cut on it and making it let out a deep, ugly sound. Constance quickly turned around and cut George's path before he could run away. He could not escape. Not alive. She waved her hatchet, aiming for his head, while George dodged it as well as he could, with an expression of absolute terror in his face.

"Constance!", he exclaimed.

The hatchet almost cut his ear.

"Constance! No! Constance!"

She did not listen to him. She had promised herself not to do it. In a desperate movement, he grabbed her wrists and she struggled against him, ending both of them falling to the floor. Constance actions also grew desperate. They were making too much noise. The servants could come and see what was happening. She had to end with it quick but George was above her, fighting to take her hatchet.

With a kick in his crotch, Constance could manage to move him away from her and weakened him enough to be in control of her hatchet again. She pushed him to the floor and rose the hatchet.

"Constance! Wait!"

The hatchet fell and all sounds extinguished.

This time she had not decapitated him but sunk the hatchet in his skull. Blood stained George's head and formed a pool on the floor. The eyes of the man looked directly to hers horribly wide open, surprised, hurt, until life abandoned him.

It was all over now.

Constance remained silent and immobile, still looking at George's lifeless eyes, recovering her breath. Her body was trembling. She did not expect him to defend himself...

...Well, it did not matter anymore. The work was done...She was finally free...George was dead and his fortune was hers...

She cleaned the hatchet with George's suit, got up and walked to the end of the corridor, to the stairs that led to the attic. Nobody came into that room because almost all they had there were old furniture and memories of her previous husbands. And she knew a couple of places where that hatchet would be safe. She left it inside the wardrobe where she had it before and left the room to go to the bedroom and change herself for dinner, passing by the corpse without looking at it. Her servants knew that she took her time to do it and would not question the time spent in doing it.

Locked herself in, undressing herself, she thought about the best way to protect herself. Who could have killed George? The excuse of the bandit was not valid anymore. The servants...Hmm, no, almost all of them were together and they all had good alibis...She could not believe she had overlooked such an important part of her plan again! It was a luck that that was going to be her final movement, but it would be a luck that she escaped well from that.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Constance turned her head towards the door, with the blue dress still in her hands. She walked to the door and listened while putting it on slowly, not making any noise.

"Emma! Emma, what's happening?"

"LEO! LEO, COME HERE! THE MASTER! THE MASTER!"

"The master? What? What are you-? Oh, Jesus!"

Constance heard a lot of feet rushing up the stairs, alerted by the maid's scream, exclamations and mutterings. She would tell that she had been there all the time, that she had seen nothing. Oh, she hoped no one saw or heard anything. Why had George to scream her name? She begged God that no one had heard anything from the lower floors.

"Oh, goodness, his head!"

"My God, oh, my God..."

"Call the police, quick!"

"Where is Mrs. Hightower? Bring her here!"

"She was changing in her room, run, Felix, tell her to come! Quick!"

Before anyone came in, Constance came out of the room with a confused expression, with no shoes and disheveled, turning to the group of people that were crowded together around the piano.

"What is this all about? Why are you shouting?", she asked, walking to them.

Nobody replied to her. She saw some of the maids cry and an expression of terror in the faces that looked at her. She moved them out of her way and approached to George. The sight of her husband with her head broken made her wobble and pretended that all her strength had abandoned her to fall into the closest arms she found. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to speak, but only suffocated sounds came out of her throat. Tears started welling her eyes, wide open because of the shock.

"For the love of God, don't make her look at this."

"Somebody bring her whisky!"

Constance was sat on a chair and hugged by Emma. The maid was pale and her face was full of tears but was genuinely worried about Constance, who looked too shocked to say a thing.

"I told you this place is cursed!"

Who said that? Constance turned her head but Emma was in the way. Was that the gardener's voice? The cook? She had no idea, but his voice sounded hoarse.

"This house doesn't allow the living! Look what they have done to the man who was fool enough to buy it!"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, shut up! You're scaring me!"

"You do well, because we all should be very, very scared! Do you see this? All blood but no weapons around! What killed him? Ha! This house is haunted! Filled with murderous spirits!"

"Oh, God!"

"Oh, don't call God's name because he didn't protect the master as he won't protect us. I don't know you but I am leaving right now! I don't care if the Police thinks that I am suspect! I won't remain here to let those creatures take my life! Fíant táamquam púlvis ante fáciem vénti: et Ángelus Dómini coárctans eos.!"

Constance looked up at Emma, still trembling and crying and she kissed her head. She opened her mouth, trying to comfort her but she did not know what to say. She turned to the scene of the crime and crossed herself with fear. Constance had to make a great effort not to laugh. Were they really going to believe that madman and blame the ghosts? Oh, she could not believe it! Maybe she did not need an alibi after all. She had forgotten that the whole village was fool enough to believe in evil spirits that killed everyone that lived in the mansion, and that was precisely the best trick she had. Whoever spread the rumor, she had to thank him!

_"...Murderer..."_

_"...Liar..."_

_"...Skunk..."_

Constance felt shivers in her back.

"W-What have you said, Emma?"

"Nothing, Mrs. Hightower...I just said God protect us..."


	7. Constance

1878

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here a bit more?"

Abigale turned to her with a little smile.

"No, thank you, Constance.", she replied. "I have too much work back home and I don't want to bother you for much longer."

"Bother me? Oh, dear, how can you say such thing? I love having you here.", Constance said, holding her hand.

Abigale looked again at the sportless marble grave and finally left the red rose on it. Her eyes read the epitaph one more time: 'Rest in peace, dear beloved George'. Constance had ordered a bust of him, since that tombstone was too plain and common for her taste and George's importance. The two women contemplated it in silence with expressions full of sorrow...Constance's only in appearance. The truth was that she was very glad that everything was over soon. If there was something she hated about being married was the family of the groom, sisters-in-law especially. At last she had got rid of Elizabeth Harper, who had married and had had a child, but many years would have to pass until Abigale disappeared from her life too. She was not as stupid as Elizabeth was but she liked to visit her way too much for her taste. With the excuse of suffering her pain alone, she had almost cloistered herself in the mansion, weeping everytime someone tried to convince her to do something. She was very tired of the villagers' sympathy and terror, because they were all sure that George had been killed by the ghosts and had begged her to go away before it was too late. Unfortunately, most of her servants had abandoned their post after the death and it was difficult to find someone who did not believe in such things or valued money more than superstition. Only Emma had stayed, as she said, 'to take care of her and share the pain'. That poor fool loved George very much and he appreciated her a lot; it was a luck that he did not live enough to include her in the testament!

Emma's tomb was near the entrance. Constance had been very relieved that the labor went wrong because she could not stand her laments, her fear everytime she was asked to do something and her mother instincts. Constance, while helping her deliver the baby until the doctor came, hoped that the baby absorbed so much of her time that she ended up resigning. She could not stand her anymore. But she did not expect the doctor telling her to call her husband because she was dying. A baby boy was born and Emma left this world soaking the bed with blood to fill a pool. She had to pretend once again that she felt the departure of her loyal maid when her death did not affect her more than losing a teaspoon, at least until that man went away taking that slobbery creature with him. After all that incident, she was free at last.

But she would not get rid of Abigale so easily. After all, she was George's sister and had all the right to be in her dear brother's home and visit her widow. They had to share the pain. Constance wondered for how long she had to wear the black dresses and pretend that all she did was to think about George.

"You are very brave."

"Pardon?"

"I said you are very brave. After all, if...they...killed him...I would have ran away immediately."

"Oh, no, no, no, I can't do nothing of the sort. This house was one of the things that were dearest to George...I...I'd never sell it...And I'm sure he would have liked that I was strong for him..."

"Yes...Yes, that's right..."

The two women remained silent again, not losing sight of the tomb. The sun was shining bright, in such a lovely Spring day that it was an insult for those who lied there in their cold, dark tombs and the two women who could not enjoy it because their minds were focused on the name written in the grave.

_"...You did it..."_

_"...Liar...You are a liar..."_

Constance turned around. Nothing apart from the tombstones that spoiled the garden and the house, just a few yards away from them. A little shiver ran along her spine. She looked at Abigale but she did not seem to have heard it. She was contemplating the clouds up in the sky with a pensive expression. After some moments, she turned to Constance with a little smile.

"I'm going to pack my things. There is too much to arrange.", she said.

"Alright. If that is what you want..."

They walked together to the house.

"Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?", Constance insisted.

"Oh, no, thank you. The spa needs my presence, but I promise you I will come back soon, my dear. Be sure of that."

"You know you are always welcome to this house."

They smiled at each other but Constance, deep inside or her, wished that the luck she had with Emma repeated and she lost sight of Abigale again. Unlike Elizabeth, she seemed to be very fond of her and she hated that.

* * *

The door of the attic opened and Constance's perceived the smell of humidity and dust in it. Still, she came in, closing the door behind her. She knew that no one came into that place, not even to clean it, and so she used it to have a moment of privacy. Everyone had the stupid custom of pity her and follow her everywhere to make her feel better, but they could not deny her a bit nap to calm her nerves or be in the attic where the memories of her husbands were. It was then when she could be Constance Hatchaway again, not Widow Hightower.

They said that sometimes screams and laments were heard in the attic but everytime she had come in a great silence had received her. She would have beaten those who believed that the mansion was haunted. All that stupidity got on her nerves. She had the excuse of having George killed by murderous ghosts not to hear that in her presence but people talked.

_Let them talk. It is better that way. They all think that I am going to end up like the old butler, tortured by the ghosts to the edge of hanging myself, but that is very convenient. It is better to be seen as a victim than a confident lady. I just have to be mourning George in public all my life, pretend that my life has become nothing but a valley of sorrow and tears. Nobody will ever tell me again what to do. Never!_

Abigale was still in her room, in the other side of the mansion, busy packing her things. She believed that she was resting and would not look in that dusty, dark attic. The few servants she had were busy with the chores and helping Abigale. Oh, how she loved being alone! She was so happy that she even hummed a little song.

She walked around the place, avoiding bumping into the numerous chairs, wardrobes and trunks that filled it. Books, hats, but, most of all, memories of her husbands and their weddings. She stopped in front of Ambrose's portrait and smiled. She had almost forgotten his tender smile but, well, she had his portrait to remember him all her life. She chuckled a bit, caressing the five pearl necklaces around her neck. If someone had told the girl of the serious expression by his side that she would become one of the greatest fortunes of the United States and she did not have to depend on a man!

_"...You witch..."_

Constance turned around. There was no one there, only she. She walked to the door. Closed.

But she would have sworn that someone had spoken to her...

She shook her head and resumed her humming but she felt nervous. Maybe...Maybe it was the guilt...

_Guilt? I only did what I had to do! They had it coming! And I've never felt guilt in my life, I won't start now! _

It was the wind. It had to be the wind. Or maybe her imagination. Because if she was alone in that place, who would have said that?

She returned her attention to the portrait to find the most extraordinary: Ambrose's head had disappeared.

Her heart skipped a beat. She took a step forward with her hand on her chest. It was impossible. It could not be! She opened her mouth but not one sound escaped from it. She turned her back on the portrait and closed her eyes. When she turned around to look at it again and convince herself that it was not her imagination, that the head of Ambrose was really gone, she saw it in its place, smiling at her.

Constance crossed the attic until she found Reginald's armchair, where his cane lied, and sat on it, playing nervously with her former husband's precious possession before dropping it to the floor and covering her face with her hands. She had the feeling that she was going mad, hearing and seeing things. Why? Oh, it was that damned house for sure! The ghost stories had ended up affecting her! She would sell that dump and forget about it forever. A house in the coast, where no one knew her, with no one around, only she and her money to spend exclusively on her, for the rest of her life. No more ghosts stories. She would live her life with no fear, no obligations!

She slowly got up and sighed. In that moment she needed a drink. She did not mind that that was something unwomanly and nasty, she needed to calm her nerves and forget somehow. When she was about to leave, she saw something that made her stop. A piece of white cloth had been caught by the tap of the trunk and was visible outside. She walked to it and opened it.

A smile appeared in her face when she saw that it was her old wedding dress. Everything was there and she took every piece to examin it, feeling that she had suddenly recovered her spirits. Her mother's veil and the dress, as beautiful as it was the first day. Not perfectly conserved but it was still pretty. Seeing it made Constance remember that she was stronger than anything. With just that dress, she had changed from being just the daughter of a simple farmer to a lady of the highest sphere, from just a little girl to a woman who had murdered five men with her own hands and was still respected and praised by everyone who knew her.

Hallucinations and ghosts would not make her lose control!

But she could still have a little laugh.

She undressed herself, leaving her green, fresh dress on the trunk and puttin the wedding gown on. She was glad to see that she had not gained too much weight after all those years and it still looked pretty on her. Then, she did the same with the veil, which was a bit damaged by the time but was acceptable and she would not throw away something that was so dear to her mother. She walked to a mirror, among Zhang's gifts and smiled. No wonder that so many men had lost their heads for her, she would have married herself! She only needed one more thing to complete her appearance, and it was with other souvenirs of her wedding with Frank. A bouquet of pink, white and red flowers that time had withered until they looked ugly and completely lifeless, but she kept them anyway as a memoir of the day when Frank was killed. She walked towards the other extreme of the attic slowly, like she did the days she had to say 'I do' to a priest with a man by her side.

"Constance, do you take this man for your lawful wedded husband, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto him for as long as you both shall live?", Constance let out a cruel laughter. "I do...I did...Hahaha-!"

"What a lovely day, isn't it?"

Constance turned around like a hind surprised by the hunter. A man was standing in front of her, and he was definitely not part of the service: his pale skin was stained with dirt and sweat and the scars and bruises made it look hideous, a long scruffy beard made it difficult to see his expression and his face was almost skeletal. His presence frightened Constance but not as much as his eyes did, hungry, glaring at her. She became paralyzed, the bouquet fell from her hand, while the man walked to her.

"In the death row I didn't get to enjoy the sun much. But this is a day worth spending outside, why are you here, in this dark place?"

That voice...But...No, it could not be...

"Don't you remember me? Oh, well, why would you? After all, I was just a coachman, a servant, nothing special. But I haven't forgotten you, Mrs. de Doom...Or was it Mrs. Cane? No, no...It was Mrs. Hightower, I think..."

"...Tim..."

The man chuckled. His looks and that hoarse laugh were so strange in him that Constance had to make a great effor to recognize the merry Tim Humbert. And she had to admit that he was right: she had absolutely forgotten about him.

"Yes...TIM!", he took a step forward and Constance drew back in response. "I'm glad you haven't forgotten about me, because I've been thinking about you all these days...All day...All night...Wondering where you would be...And they told me...In a very big mansion, surrounded by luxury...sleeping calmly every night in a big, comfortable bed...to wake up the following day with a big, delicious breakfast by your side to give you strength to face a day of playing and chattering with the ladies of the high sphere...While I rotted in a jail, waiting to be hanged for a crime I didn't commit..."

"Tim...Tim, listen to me...", Constance whispered.

"Listen? Oh, no, no, no, I don't have any interest in what you want to say...Not only little bit..."

Constance panted. She had to get out of there. She had to...lock him in the attic, get help...He would tell...He was going to kill her and tell everybody what she did...She had to do something fast! Tim approached more to her. He was cornering her. She had to move quick before that happened. She saw that he had something in his hands but she could not see what it was, and she did not have time to find out.

Too late. She could not escape. All the furniture was in the way and Tim blocked the escape. Maybe pushing him and running as fast as she could...

The hatchet!

All of a sudden, Constance ran to Tim's left, towards the big wardrobe, bumping into a little auxiliar table that fell to the floor. She ran at all the speed her legs allowed her to reach. She opened the doors of the wardrobe and there she found, apart from a little spiderweb, the hatchet that would save her. She took it and turned around quickly to face Tim. But Tim had followed her and she had barely turned to him when he showed what he had in his hand. An old razor.

He did not give her time to use the weapon she had grabbed. As soon as she turned around, he waved it and Constance felt a sharp pain in her neck.

Blood started flowing out of the cut, dying the white dress red.

Constance looked at Tim with her eyes wide open. Like the last time they had seen each other, she was wobbling towards him but instead of puzzlement, his face showed no emotion, not even fury. Just a calm contemplation of his revenge. Not saying a single word, he turned around, put his razor back to his pocket and walked towards the door. Constance tried to go after him but her strength was abandoning her and her vision became blurred.

_I...have to kill...him...I have t-to...kill...him..._

She tried to call his name, cry for help, but the only thing she got was to choke. She touched her throat and then contemplated her hand full of blood.

_I have to g-get...help!_

Constance's grip on the hatchet was weak but she did not let it fall. Her strength was almost gone. When she tried to go after Humbert, she stumbled over the fallen table and fell to the ground. No matter how hard she tried to get up, she was not able to move. She slowly abandoned her attempts, though her head was still lucid. She shook her head in denial and horror.

_No...No...Not now...No...I don't want to die...I don't want to die..._

Why did the attic feel so cold? Where had the sun from the window gone?

_I don't want to die...No..._

She opened her mouth and let out a little whine. She forced herself to get up but she could not even move her head. Everything was darker and darker. Her eyes fixed on the rafters above her and his panting became more desperate, feeling like if her lungs rejected letting air come in. She squeezed the hatchet in her hand because she could hear he wedding march in her head.

Soon, the fingers that held it relaxed and the blurred vision of the rafters gave way to the most absolute darkness.


	8. Epilogue

_Dear Curtis_

_Thank you for your last letter. I am very glad to know that your mumps are much better and that Tommy is going so well at school. Give a hug to everybody from me. _

_I am writing you to announce that I am going back home. Mrs. Hightower is dead. If newspapers have not said a word about it, I am telling you: she was murdered. We found her in the attic, with her throat slit, it was horrible! We thought that she was sleeping in her room because since the murder of her husband her nerves had been suffering but there she was, and the most strange, with her wedding dress on and a hatchet in her hand. The Police has no idea of why she was dressed like that and where she got that hatchet from and why for, but they are still investigating. They have asked me lots of questions, you don't know how horrible it has been...Oh, if that door had not been opening and closing all the afternoon, James would not have come up and discovered the corpse._

_The funeral has been lovely, most of the town has been here and many relations of Mrs. Hightower from all around the country. She was buried by her husband's side. Her mother almost fainted. Mrs. Patecleaver is also very touched by the tragedy. She loved her sister-in-law a lot. Since Mrs. Hightower died, she is now the propietary of the house. She found the last will of the mistress. We all knew she was a very foresighted woman. The case is that she is planning to sell the house but I don't really think anyone is going to buy it after this. All the servants have resigned or are going to do it, as I am. How are we going to work here? The curse was real, brother. People die in here. I've been hearing voices for a long time but this...this is too much. _

_Reverend Bloodmere wanted to exorcise the house. He headed to the attic after the mistress funeral, having examined all the house, and do you know what happened? He never went down. We came into the attic to look for him and we found him dead too. He had no blood but his expression was of pure terror. The doctor has no idea of what could have killed him because there were no wounds but he commented, and we all agree on that, that he died of fear. Why else would a dead man have that expression? That can only mean that the ghosts that haunt the house want lives and I am not going to give them mine. God bless that poor man's soul! I am sure that what killed Mrs. Hightower killed him too.__  
_

_Sorry, this is not a good thing to tell in a letter but I am too nervous. I have not slept in two days and I hear voices from the attic but not even for a million dollars would I lay a foot on it. Everyone here is very scared and I am no exception. I feel like I will not feel safe until I find myself back to Boston. I don't know what has the doctor given to Mrs. Patecleaver to make her be so calm that I have even seen her smile, but I need some._

_I promise that I will try to forget all this nightmare when we see each other. _

_Loves you,_

_ Cindy_


End file.
